A Discription of the Town in North Pencil Land


I remember when I visited the village around the north province of Pencil Land. Everything in Pencil Land is covered in snow and ice. The village is resting between two mountain ranges that no one can cross. They have to pass right through this village, but travelers are still rare. The path is hard and I think this discourages most of them. But I was young then, and very ambitious; I suppose the thought of freezing to death was more appealing than to extend my journey by a day or two. I can't even remember where I was going. Anyway, I entered the village early in the morning, in the grey dawn, so to speak; the sun wasn't really up, but everything was sort of gray and foggy. You didn't realize that you were in the village very quickly: the path slowly grew wider and easier, there were the stumps of trees along the path, and then there was a house, and another— and then you noticed that you had entered the village finally.  I saw mounds of snow heaped up along the roadside to clear a path, even though more snow had fallen since, and very dim and dirty it seemed, indeed. The windows were dark, and the houses were sealed in ice. The air was still, cold, and quiet. Not a sound could be heard. Everything was asleep; misty side-streets were still dark and mysterious. The silhouettes of the roofs stuck out and were jagged with icicles. And then— the sun came up.
I've never seen it come up so suddenly—so energeticly—so full of enthusiasm. It burst over the eastern mountains and filled the whole valley like water filling a bowl; it flooded the street and the mist became clear and sparkling with rainbows. A thousand little tinkling sounds exploded into the silent air like crystal fragments dropping as the icicles cracked and dripped and glimmered. I realized now how white the snow was, how crisp and fine the air. There were tendrils of smoke rising from frost edged chimneys, glass windows sparkled and shone—and suddenly I was not the only thing awake. Doors began to clatter and scrape, and window-shutters creaked. Iron gate-latches rattled and footsteps crunched on snow. Three red-cheeked children trotted round the corner of a house, carrying sticks of wood. An older man in a gigantic furry coat was scraping snow off his front step with a shovel.  I noticed tiny green snow-drops poking up in a sheltered corner. 
My opinion is that the poem 'A Thought' by General Richard Distraction captures the scene perfectly.  I will quote it below because his works are not overly well known and you probably have never heard the one I refer to before. 
"O breaking twilight of the eve
Shadows dawning o'er the trees
Movements hushed by wisping threads of sleep
Life's constant murmur dreaming.
Night-swallowed forests cling to the moon's pale light
Till skies with stars are no more bedeck'd
With velvet darkness warm and still
And morning's song whispers it's joyous might."

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I, Grace (not the character in North Pencil Land mentioned above) am sorry that this blog post is so short.  Hopefully the next one will be about the Train Station.  I apologize for the extreme delay.  Thank you for reading!

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