Written on March 31, 2013
Dry leaves crunch underneath your tentative feet as you trudge through the forest, weaving between the shivering trees that have been made naked by the arriving autumn. Frigid air penetrates your thin jacket and chills you. Your breath is visible in front of your face as a trail of steam emanating from your mouth. Your regular walk in the woods will have to come to an end soon, when the weather gets to a point where the average high temperature is below freezing.
You wander along, shivering as the day gets colder and the sun gets lower. You’re about to head back, but something catches your eye. Some distance further, something blue lies against a tree. From this distance and in the fading daylight you can’t see what it is. You can only tell from here that it’s the bluest blue you’ve ever seen. You give yourself five minutes to take a look, then you’ll head back.
As you approach it, you can see that it’s a very blue box. Not any blue box. It’s the blue box. That magical blue police box, the bluest blue. But something seems wrong. It looks old, abandoned, lifeless. You can’t help but bring your hand up to the soft wood just to be sure it’s real. It feels cold, not like it should. But then, how should you know? The forest is silent, like the trees themselves are mourning. It’s almost eerie. You close your eyes, leaning against the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. ‘What happened to you?’ you wonder. ‘What could’ve happened that could leave you like this?’ You start to worry, wondering what happened to the owner of this wonderful blue box, hoping with your entire being that he’s not dead.
You start to tear up, leaning your head against the soft blue wood. ‘It’s dead. The blue box is dead,’ you think to yourself, still not quite wanting to believe it. It’s getting darker, but you can’t bring yourself to get up and leave. You sink to your knees, quietly sobbing and trying to convince yourself that it’s not true. That it can’t be dead. This dear blue box, which has served its purpose well for centuries untold, can’t possibly, truly have no life left within it.
The thought only induces more tears, and you eventually cry yourself to sleep, dreaming that all is well.
You wander along, shivering as the day gets colder and the sun gets lower. You’re about to head back, but something catches your eye. Some distance further, something blue lies against a tree. From this distance and in the fading daylight you can’t see what it is. You can only tell from here that it’s the bluest blue you’ve ever seen. You give yourself five minutes to take a look, then you’ll head back.
As you approach it, you can see that it’s a very blue box. Not any blue box. It’s the blue box. That magical blue police box, the bluest blue. But something seems wrong. It looks old, abandoned, lifeless. You can’t help but bring your hand up to the soft wood just to be sure it’s real. It feels cold, not like it should. But then, how should you know? The forest is silent, like the trees themselves are mourning. It’s almost eerie. You close your eyes, leaning against the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. ‘What happened to you?’ you wonder. ‘What could’ve happened that could leave you like this?’ You start to worry, wondering what happened to the owner of this wonderful blue box, hoping with your entire being that he’s not dead.
You start to tear up, leaning your head against the soft blue wood. ‘It’s dead. The blue box is dead,’ you think to yourself, still not quite wanting to believe it. It’s getting darker, but you can’t bring yourself to get up and leave. You sink to your knees, quietly sobbing and trying to convince yourself that it’s not true. That it can’t be dead. This dear blue box, which has served its purpose well for centuries untold, can’t possibly, truly have no life left within it.
The thought only induces more tears, and you eventually cry yourself to sleep, dreaming that all is well.