Leaving leaves of autumn behind, winter brings forth its frosty breath. Wind induced tears freeze on the corners of my eyes and sticks to my eyelashes. With each bitter step, slumped under the weight of my heavy school book-laden backpack, I curse the painful cold. Hours later, after the boring classes with wretched school kids, and just tolerable friends, my tired feet guide me to a place, a text filled cozy home away from home. The walls are stacked with books, and aisles of titles. I shuffle past them, letting the warm air of the store thaw my frozen bones and cold-stiffened lips. A welcome feeling of relaxation washes over me at last like a warm-water bath, or the heat eminating off of orange glowing embers settling into the powdery fine dust of the fireplace. Back behind the best sellers and pulp fiction lay the magazine racks, and among those racks, the surfing magazines. Blue colored beach breaks and tahitian landscapes grace their pages. My mind slips into the summer promised in these pages and the frozen world outside dissolves into the blank forgotten whiteness of winter's first snow
