The first time I was able to walk after my operation on my own was down the avenue.
The trees line up on either side of the road. The sky, grey in colour, hangs over the trees, bringing the cold and frost with it.
As I exhale, I see the mist swirling and fading away from my lips; the cold bites at my face, my ears sting as the wind rushes pass. Tears begin to roll down my cheeks as I squint against the raging wind prompting me to pull my scarf up around my neck.
The naked branches of the trees move and sway, going with the flow, not resisting the power of the wind. Leaves move and dance with the wind, thrown up to great heights to float gently back down to the earth. Nothing can be heard over the sound of the wind, for it makes itself known to everyone.
Step by step, I walk down the path past the trees and see cars park on both sides of the road. Houses sit next to each other, facing each other and staring at each other all day and all night; the light begins to fade and the dull flickering of the street lights light up to ward off the darkness of the night.
The sound of a car alarm goes off in the distance and still the street lights continue to shine with my shadow following me as I walk down the path. Wherever I step, wherever I go, my shadow follows me; a companion, a watcher.
The coldness bits harder at my face, the pain on my cheeks and on my hands continue to sting and all the while the trees still stand parallel to each other on the road.
How long have the trees been here? Who knows. How old are they? No one knows, yet they stand where they are all year round; following the cycle of the seasons and grow older with each and every passing cycle.
I finally get home and look back where I have walked; darkness surrounds the houses, the cars, the trees and the street lamps. The wind dies down until it becomes nonexistent and there, in that silence everything exists; and everything should be where it should be, in its place.