First Breath - 19

There was the first breath of air as I stepped from the warm comfort of the apartment. Frost glittered on the grass and the rails but I didn't notice these small things. I cared for myself first and the softly glowing clouds emanating from my mouth enchanted and bewitched me. I drew great deep breaths of the cold air and released it, pushing every particle out of my lungs and body, watching the steamy air pour out from my mouth, solidify, and fade away.

The tip of my nose felt so cold and so fresh, just like the edges of my ears where a light tingly pain gave me my first notice of the nerves there. I pranced away from the door, smoke still flowing freely from my open lips. I watched my mother step out of the room, closing the door behind her. Her short her shook as she stepped down from the doorway. She turned around and a twinkle shone bright and clear in her eyes. They were youthful eyes, all aglow with life and happiness.

We linked arms and half-walked, half-skipped to the steps. Making our way carefully down, I then looked up. The sky was blue, blue, blue. It looked bluer than I'd ever seen it and the clouds were white and happy. The tar on the road looked different too. It was a deeper black that was somehow the epitome of sparkling happiness. The yellow-gray concrete of the pavement wrapped around patches of emerald-green grass and the contrast caught my eye, holding my attention. In each patch of such grass, there was a single tree.

This is my memory and I promise you that it's as real as I could make it.

Perfectly in Time - 18

Winds sweep back and forth, scattering the leaves on the ground and sloughing them off the treetops. The orange-and-gold flashes made by the twirling dancers as they spin wildly, out of control dazzle all of nature. A green streak zips up the side of a tree and the brightest emerald lizard perches at the tip of a twig, body perfectly aligned with the branches. It stares at the spinning light and fails to see the brown explosion that swoops down and swiftly snatches up the emerald in its curved yellow talons. The owl's jet black eyes miss nothing except the mud-colored eagle that curves and dives toward the ground, raking the back of the snowy rabbit which swerves wildly, perfectly in time with the soaring brown, the squirming emerald, the swooping mud, and above all, the orange-and-gold flashes.