Windchill

On days like this, it’s hard to go into my house.

I can finally understand what they mean by walking down memory lane- although my feet are bigger and the sidewalk made of entirely different concrete, I can remember the feel of cool concrete that's still damp with rain beneath my bare feet, a gentle breeze ruffling my hair. The wind picks up and my dog tugs against her leash- I close my eyes and suddenly I’m in Maryland, passing the new playground with the squeaky swings and about to go past the Dearborn’s home, about to wave to Caitlyn and her little brothers. Outside, the smells of trees and sky are the same, mostly, and the wind is the same across the world. The slight chill and soft, comforting breeze turns my skin a little pale, blotches of my skin turning an even rosier red than usual.

When you’re little, you make generalizations and take them as facts- when I was little, it rained every day in the spring then cleared up, and rained around noon during fall much of the time. Whether or not that is true is up to debate, but that is what I “knew” then, and it is what I know now.

When I look up and see the rainclouds hanging in the sky, a sullen reminder from the rainstorm during lunch, all I see is the other set of rainclouds, far away, sitting under our Japanese cherry blossom tree and watching the lightning flash in the distant storm.

But when I walk into my house, the smell is different from my old home’s, the temperature is a little warmer, the stone tiles strange against my feet, so used to hardwood and still stuck in my illusion that I'm in the past. I open the window and let the cold air flow over me and chill the room, yet it is not the same if I close my eyes, not the same no matter how hard I try and see the past.

Hi there! I will (try to) be your reviewer today! My corrections in CAPS.

...and the sidewalk entirely different concrete

AN entirely different concrete? That would make it less awkward.

The wind picks up and my dog tugs against her leash- I close my eyes and suddenly I’m in Maryland, passing the playground with the squeaky swings and about to go past the Dearborn’s home.

I think it's good that you started the sentence with the same idea (wind) that you ended the last one with, that leads the reader on with the same idea, making it an easier read. But I have just a little trouble understanding the rest of the sentence: you jump from a dog to memory, you should make the transition a little smoother.

comforting wind turns my skin a little pale, blotches of my skin turning rosy red.
These two phrases do not agree, you could, perhaps, say "comforting wind turns my skin a little pale, BUT SOME blotches of my skin REMAIN rosy red." or something like that.

when I was little, it rained every day in the sparing then cleared up, and rained around noon during fall much of the time.

This feels very much like a run-on sentence, my corrections: "when I was little, it rained every day in the sparing (What's a sparing?),(<INSERT COMMA) cleared up and THEN rained around noon. (during fall much of the time: This could be moved to the beginning of the phrase or cut out completely, it confuses the reader)

Whether or not that is true is up to debate, but that is what I “knew” then, and it is what I know now.

This sentence if a little blocky and awkward; you can smooth it out by removing many of those 'is's and making them into abbreviations. (i.e. that is = that's).

When I look up and see the rainclouds hanging in the sky, a sullen reminder from the rainstorm during lunch, all I see is grey clouds, sitting under the sakura, or Japanese cherry blossom tree, and watching the lightning flash in the distant storm.

I would remove ", or Japanese cherry blossom tree," and the repetition of the word 'clouds'. Maybe that's just me.

Besides all that (And I couldn't find anything spelling-ish or grammatical) this is a great story, Keep Writing!

Hi, EmiAnne!

First of all I think you should clarify the genre of this piece. It's posted in Non-Fiction, so is this sort of a journal entry or just a few thoughts clammed together? If I had read this without knowing the genre, I would've probably thought it was a prologue to a story.

Reviewing fiction/stories is different from reviewing non-fiction/columns/articles, so there's not much I can do for you considering this particular piece of work. There is one thing that caught my eye, though:

the sidewalk made of entirely different concrete, I can remember the feel of cool concrete beneath my bare feet

The repetition of "concrete" makes the sentence sound... well, repetitive. It'd be better to replace one of them with something else.

So, if this is indeed a column/article, you would need to think the thesis, or the main point of the text. In other words, what is it that you want to say with this? However, I don't believe this is that kind of text, because you had a prosaic style in this, rather than a matter-of-fact one. Like I said, this reminds me more of a prologue, in which case the length is fine, but if it's supposed to be an actual story, it would be good to expand.

If you meant to post this to somewhere else, like Other Fiction for example, all you need to do is to PM a person with a green name and they'll move it for you. Otherwise, I think it's crucial to state the genre of the piece in order to not confuse the reviewers.

PM me with any questions!


Demeter
x

Right I did enjoy this. I love reading stories about memories and past feelings, it always manages to intrigue me.
First thing I did notice though is that you use the same words (Concrete and wind) twice in the first paragraph. To me this makes the story feel very monotonous and dull. Mix it up there is many ways you can describe a wind. E.g a gust, a breeze.. etc.
Also I think you could have made what you were actually writing about a little clearer. We understand that you have returned to your old childhood home, but make it more clearer. Have her see a scene of her childhood where her whole family was sitting around the tree maybe, then wake up and realise they are all gone. Oooh spooky.

i really liked how you transitioned into memory without saying blatantly "i remember how..". the first paragraph was very beautiful. i think it got a little confused near the end, but all you need to do is sort out the sentences a little bit and this piece will be good to go. i am fan of your writing style, this sort of mellow and descriptive, almost sad, set up you have. actually i don't mean almost sad-- i mean sad. but not depressed/heavy. good job.

I really liked it. really beautiful.