Most people love a blank page.
A new start – a clean slate full of opportunities. What’s not to like? For me,
an empty sheet is terrifying. The pressure to write claws at me as time ticks
away, the daunting pages sitting there, mocking me. I try to block everything
out, focus my mind away from all the distractions, onto the blinking cursor
where words should be flowing. But nothing comes.
Eventually, I give in to the
temptations around me and let my mind wander. Through the foggy window, I watch
snowflakes flutter gently from the sky, shimmering in the morning light. My
eyes close. I find myself in a deserted street, every surface covered in a
thick, white, snowy blanket. The howling wind drowns out my footsteps as snow
brushes the tip of my nose, urging me to have a taste. Shrill voices rise into
the air as I turn the corner into the park.
Walking through the gate, I'm
greeted by an incredible sight. Hundreds of kids, laughing, celebrating the
snow, their colourful jackets brightening the monochrome landscape. Snowball
throwing children are soaked to the bone, their gloves sopping wet. Others
skate across the lake, making large cracks in the surface. Sledges hurtle down
the hills, racing to the bottom. A few lone snowmen are dotted around the
hills, their pebble eyes surveying the scene, old scarves wrapped carelessly
around their shoulders.
