It’s been a while since I touched the sketchbook. Most days it sits on my desk, unnoticed beneath a pile of papers and ideas that I probably never will bring to life. I’ve never been remotely talented as an artist, but some days my mind becomes open, and energy flows through my arms and into my fingers, guiding the soft charcoal across the rough paper in clean, depth-filled strokes. Today must be one of those days, because here I sit on the window-seat with the sketchbook open on my lap and an empty mind waiting for inspiration. My fingers itch to begin, but where the story starts I do not know.

My eyes drift gently to what lies beyond my own bedroom window. Rain falls from the sky, drifting in wild spirals and dousing the sweet maiden oak in the front yard. Huddled beneath the dripping boughs sits a squirrel gnawing on an acorn. It’s bushy tail twitches, and it bounds from the tree to the grass. As its paws touch the ground, the rain freezes and the landscape is suddenly covered in a blanket of fresh snow.

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The squirrel shakes his furry coat. Like magic, his pelt changes from gray to rich burnt umber. He leaves little paw-prints in the tall drifts as he searches for nuts, and a fat snowflake floats gently to rest on the small rodent’s nose. The oak shakes in a sudden gust of wind and the falling snow dances around it. The snow spirit’s laugh is a symphony of soft whistling and mirth, ending in a pleased sigh. On days like this, I imagine the Snow Queen calls her servants close, and I savor the fairytale world Old Hans Andersen never knew would fascinate me most.

Dark clouds ombré to white as my gaze reaches skyward, higher and higher into another world beyond my own. I press my fingertips to the glass, my breath fogging the pane as the cold invades my senses. Cold has a smell, you know—like faded balsam crusted in ice. My fingertips turn numb and I pull them into my gray quilt. Warmth floods my cheeks as I tuck my chin inside my cocoon and lean my back against the ancient bookshelf. It creaks quietly, lovingly, almost imperceptibly, like an old friend who has long borne each of my joys and sorrows.

Suddenly the frost on the window-panes vanishes. The reverie breaks; the snow melts to raindrops trickling down the gutter. The temperature rises back to the fiery warmth invading every corner within the house. From somewhere upstairs, the sweet piano melodies that tumble out of Anthony’s mind pulse through the walls. I smile. He’s been learning Christmas songs lately, but this one I have never heard. It reminds me of snowdrifts and winters that don’t exist here. I wonder if we’re both having the same dream. Dreaming, pretending, whatever you want to call it.

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I don’t pretend like I used to. When I was little, pretend was seeing something deep within something and coaxing it to the surface. A doll became a friend and a stuffed animal became a loyal pet. Playthings had voices and thoughts. It was so easy to make friends with things that only existed in my head. A year ago, I thought pretend could only exist again on paper, guided by a fountain pen ready to transcribe or a charcoal lump ready to trace. But I’ve come to realize that my reveries are my new pretend. They take me somewhere else, a place I want to be, somewhere I can be happy. Pretend is for my joy and peace of mind now. Occasionally a talking animal will creep out of the shrouded woods, an old friend from a past not yet buried in time.

The strong perfume of baked molasses drifts into my room; my mouth waters at the prospect of fresh gingerbread with cold milk. The red, green, blue, and yellow Christmas lights on my bookshelf and bed-frame twinkle in the dim light, and the soft quilt tenderly cups my face in its folds. The piano becomes muffled beneath the excited laughter of my younger siblings. My mind is now wrapped in a story, tangled in frost-coated vines and rich smells and familiar tastes. With closed eyes, I place the charcoal on the paper and begin to draw.

This is a sketch of winter.


I hope you enjoyed reading this quick written sketch! I live in a place where we don't get winters like other people, and honestly sometimes it gets a little lonesome and the way for me to cope with that is to pretend. The character(s) in this sketch are, however, fictional. Only the thoughts are mine, although I took liberties with the setting and other things.

On another note, I am beginning to plan my blog content for 2019! I am making a bunch of content changes, schedule improvements, and most importantly, providing more opportunity for you as a reader to weigh in with your voice and your opinion. I really want to know what you want to read in 2019 so I can tailor my content to you. So I've created this little survey, and it would mean the world to me if you took a few minutes to fill it out. I will be depending on it heavily as I plan and write for 2019, and if no one fills it out, I won't be able to know what to improve on. So please please please take it! <333