Richard Spencer May

English 101

10/09/15

Blog Post #2

The air is cold. Everything is motionless. A perfect still frame but nothing lasts forever.  A gentle breeze starts to blow across the snow, sending glittering crystals into the air, which dance among the rays of the sun. This place has not been touched, the last great bastion, holding strong among the ever expanding empire of man. The wind picks up. It drags its icy claws across my protective clothing, trying to find a weakness in the armor to strike a fatal blow, but it finds no luck and fades away to build its strength for another attack.


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