Dead, cold January day in our abandoned baseball field. The fun we had together, our imagination revealed, sledding and snow ball fights in a chilly, winter way, climbing the dead sycamore tree… everyone but me. But times advance, people leave, one by one, as if by chance. How ever so naïve… One found new friends. One moved away. One overdosed to fit the trend. One died to soon in the eternal relay. Cruel death and harsh life stole my friends, leaving our memories cold. Now it’s just me, unattended in the winter shield in our abandoned baseball field, sitting under the dead sycamore tree…