Reviewing old material

I'm reduced to writing new ideas and some old in my blog now because my new laptop is in need of programming. I was rereading my very first novel and have decided to take the barebones it has and see what I can make out of it.

Before It was a cold winters day in the meadow when I first glimpsed Parriss. The invading chill warned of an an unusually cold season, the the children playing in the snow seemed oblivious to the snow. The smell of fresh pine and ice filled each breath. The trees were barren. The ground was stripped of it's grassy carpet and replaced by a blanket of crunchy white snow. Thick clouds muted the diamond gleam of icecicles on tree branches. The landscape offered no distraction from the beauty of this angel gliding along the snow. I stood in awe. My best friend startled me when he asked, "Are you alright? You look like a deer in healights." "Look at that amazing woman near the ball field. Isn't she exquisite?" My angel stood one hundred feet from us. "That's not a woman it's my step-sister Parriss. The one that I've been complaining about for the past few days." He replied.


After:
It was a cool spring day when I returned to the meadow of my childhood and glimpsed the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I stood just out of sight in the forest that blocks the houses in the neighborhood from the imagination of the children playing. I see this angel swinging gingerly in the distant playground area. Her blonde hair is caught by the wind making it look like an angels wings. She is dressed to regally to be a neighborhood child. She couldn't be much older then seventeen or eighteen. Her eyes find mine as her swinging comes to a stop. She adjusts the lapel of her white fur coat. She smile at me as she is walking toward me. She has eyes so blue they look like they are glowing, and her smile is blindingly white. She is directly in front of me now. My mouth has gone dry and I can't say anything. "Do I know you?" She asks in a regal British accent. I feel the fog in my mind lift slightly, "Um, I don't think so. I'm John Ford." I say as I extend my hand toward her. She grasps my hand with two fingers and I lift it to my lips and this brief contact makes me feel as though I've been branded with a hot poker.

That is all I have for now. I think it is more interesting then what I wrote when I was 21. Maybe I have learned somethings since then.