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The taste of a white, ashy christmas

September 28, 2018

    The taste of winter is mushed up goldfish and burning hot chamomile tea (and maybe a bit of ash), all smashed together in my mouth. That morning, the ash that had covered our ground for weeks like a blanket of snow had finally left us; All that was left was a few specks of menacing gray dots to remind us of what had happened. We shivered, puffing out cold air as we went along our way. The world was quiet so it seemed as if someone had put speakers in our shoes, pounding on the ground with every step. In fact, it was so quiet that it was as if the world's do not disturb sign had been turned on and frankly, I hoped it didn't turn back off, as it was a welcome break from the chaos that had happened in the weeks past. Suddenly, there was a noise, then another, and then more; the world was waking up as the fire red sun rose. I took the last handful of goldfish (mostly crumbs now, as they had been at the bottom of the bag) and gulped it down it with the tea. I took my best friend's hand as we walked towards the rising sun. Now that I think about it, it wasn't just the taste of winter, it was the taste of love, friendship, and hope for a better day.
This was written about the aftermath Thomas fire.

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