He trudged past a small snowman standing vigil over a glistening hydrant. Small sticks and brown, decomposing leaves stuck out of his head and side, results of the small amount of snow this past day. Similarly, he had mud spattered on his jeans, evidence of his rolling and sliding in the slight coat of snow.



Pressing on, he closed his eyes, though only momentarily. A smile played across his lips and a feeling of general warmth spread throughout his body. It started deep in his stomach and swelled through his throat to leave a satisfied ache in his. He held off his jittering and shivering, letting in the cold. He was satisfied, happy. It was, for the briefest of moments, nirvana. He had found a certain weightlessness. He fought to clear his mind and focus on that feeling, knowing it wouldn't last. He rounded yet another corner, hanging off the rough street post. Snow flakes drifted lazily, only visible in the fickle glow of the streetlights.



The lack of sound was astounding. Not a single decibel noticeable beyond the clunking of boots and rasp of breath. He stopped and held his breath. His lethargic eyelids drooped. Suddenly there was nothing but his thoughts. He tried again to focus on that feeling; to eliminate every last memory, to find pure nothing. He could not. Returning to consciousness, he strode on, much more aware of the world around him. His head sagged as he thought, and he noticed the footprints left in the snow. The shallow scuffs of a dog aligned with those of what he presumed to be its owner. Scattered across the parking strip, with clumps of wet grass showing through were the prints of small children, weaving back and forth between their parents.



Just as the snow around him was turning to mush, so too would this sensation. With brief regret, he acknowledged this and blinked a snowflake out of his eye, thoughts returning to material things. He mounted the low steps to a dimly lit house. As he pulled open the door, a gust of warm air enveloped him, extinguishing his introspective thoughts.