A Description of the Courtyard on a Winter's Afternoon

By Isabelle Parker

A lean tree whips violently in the wind, like a balloon struggling to stay tethered to its post. Its leaves create a slapping sound when they meet, and its bark is rough and flaking. The wind creates a gushing noise when it passes through the branches, like a great specter groaning its displeasure. The tables are grey and scratched, rusty and peeling in some places. The paint is chipped in parts, revealing a layer of green varnish underneath. The untainted parts of the metal are smooth, and create a screeching sound when scratched, like nails on a chalkboard. A metallic aroma emanates from the structure. The rust is thick, red and bumpy, like lava bubbling up through a rock. Three crows sit perched atop the roof, their beady eyes scanning the ground like tigers ready to pounce. Their soft feathers turn messy and mangled in the wind. They startles, and take flight with an ear piercing shriek, their wings beating the air with almighty flaps. A leaf falls from a tree, hitting the concrete with a dry scratching sound. It slithers along the ground like a rattle snake in the desert. Its brown tint is reminiscent of an autumn long passed. Bushes wave in the distance, bordering the grass like loyal soldiers. The wind musses their leaves every which way, but they stay firm in the ground. The grass by their feet is wavering in its complexion- dry and bare in some parts, and cold and icy in others. Frost has crept along its leggy blades in the early hours of the morning, making it prone to dew when the sun hits its bowing heads.

The mood of the courtyard is bright and joyful; the sun peeks her golden head out from behind a cloud, the first hint of a spring not yet sprung. A tentative anticipation grips all who turn their winter weary heads to the sight, afraid to jinx the end of the cold and the beginning of the warmth.