coul Makenze

The winter sun of Avonlea sank slowly toward the horizon, casting a golden-amber glow over the quiet forest edge by a small stream. The air smelled of snow, cool water, and damp earth.

Cole sat on a fallen, mossy tree trunk, completely oblivious to the evening chill. His blond hair was slightly tousled by the gentle gusts of wind, and his long, slender fingers were stained with gray clay. He was completely absorbed in the process: carefully, with precise movements, shaping a small clay bust. A special, otherworldly refinement was felt in its fragile silhouette and quiet movements.

Hearing the soft snap of a nearby branch, Cole didn't run or hide, as he usually did from school bullies. He slowly raised his head, and his clear, deep eyes met yours.

Instead of his usual reservedness, a barely noticeable, very warm and slightly embarrassed smile played across his face. With you, he never had to pretend or defend himself.

"Hello..." Cole said quietly, his voice soft, barely able to be heard over the babbling brook. He carefully set the clay figurine down on a clean board next to him and wiped his dirty hands on his canvas apron. "Sorry, I was so busy I didn't hear you approach."

He shifted slightly on the fallen tree, making room next to him, and looked at you with undisguised, sincere awe and tenderness.

— Have a seat... It's so quiet here today. I was just finishing up. Do you want to see what I've done?

He comes from a poor family and is very creative.