Dusted Seating

It had always been his favorite spot to watch the first snow fall of the season.

He couldn't remember why - but he was drawn to that row of old, rickety iron benches that lined the inlet. Ever since he was a small boy, he had enjoyed sitting alone on the worn wood, watching as the world around him was covered with a fine layer of white.

He always marveled at how the world around him never stop proceeding. While he would make sure to stop, sit, listen, and watch, everyone else kept going. The joggers kept running. The children kept laughing. The pets kept playing as far as their leashes would allow. While he enjoyed the peace a quiet of the benches, seeing the world continue always made him smile. It made him feel alive.

He loved looking up - amongst the falling flakes, leaning back and forth, side ti side, dodging them as well as he could - catching the occasional one of his tongue. It felt good when a flake would out maneuver him and landed on his cheek, instantly melting. It brought a chill to his face - a cold tickle that would run from his face all the way down to his toes.

Most times after sitting out on the bench, he'd have to prepare himself for the coming winter - for living on a coast, they were often times harsh and drawn out. But, today he wasn't worried. Looking ahead at the inlet, he saw the usual flock of ducks bobbing up and down in the water, drifting lazily wherever the current would take them. If they hadn't gone yet, he knew he didn't have to worry about winter arriving anytime soon.

With that thought pushed out of his mind, he smiled and looked up at the sky again, sticking his tongue out - waiting to taste the falling frost.