The oppressive grey clouds hang low in the sky, threatening to snow. The wind, whipping across the barren landscape. While it is not snowing, it is seen flying quickly across the plain, and then is dropped just as suddenly as it was picked up. The snow drifts, numerous across the plain, are marked and scarred by the strong, careless wind. Bits of ice and snow hold back the relentless breeze, giving the landscape a streaked appearence. In the distance, the only other sound to the howling of the wind, is a bit of metal, blown against a pole. The ringing of the two pieces of metal is only faintly heard. In the distance, a row of small homes line the horizon. Snow covered, and almost hidden behind the snow drifts, no sign of life can be seen in them. The bleak, desolate terrain is disrupted by only a few, lone trees that have managed to stand despite the ice and wind. The cold is only amplified by this wind. I am reminded of home, as I look and see a bus, waiting. I turn my back to the bleak field, board the bus, and head into town.