I was wearing a powder blue ruffled tux, and I think it was the first time that I felt handsome.  The sun was shining and the promise of slightly melted chocolate hidden in pastel plastic eggs made the sun seem to shine a little brighter.  This was back before I had learned that there was no such thing as magic in the world.  This was before I was old enough to know that there was anything more to the day than being the one with the fullest basket.  The other kids stopped hunting with each discovery to devour their loot, but I never stopped looking.  Even as I wrapped my hand around each discovery, my eyes were already looking for the next. 

  Later as my cousins looked on with envy as I slowly, devilishly, enjoyed each treat I looked over to my grandmother sowing in her chair.  I was drawn to her hands.  How could such wrinkled hands be so nimble?  I asked her why old people had so many wrinkles.  She looked at me for a moment, laid her tools in her lap, and said to me, "Where else would we keep all of our secrets?"  Then she winked at me and went back to her craft while grandpa snored in his chair and the cousins noisily bickered.  I bit the first ear off of a new dark bunny and thought she must have more secrets than anyone else in the world.

description via minutiae

Briefly describe a natural setting in minute details. - While we were sleeping the night had been busy sealing all the town up with the utmost care. Like a careful parent wrapping presents, no corner was left bare. Needing no tape to seal the coming day up in a layer of ice, the storm had made a fragile casting of the valley. For all that hard work, my first step out the door began the ruination of it all. The ice gasped in pain as my clumsy foot destroyed the perfection of it all. Later the neighborhood children would play sleuth and trace my predawn footsteps, perfectly preserved, wondering what murderous vagrant had passed through so early. While I stared out the my work window watching the merciless sun wipe it all away.

The Plan

I am going to turn this into a public writing exercise. Starting with this resource and Stepehen King's, "On Writing" http://www.cmmayo.com/d5mwearchives.november.html Thank You novel November for the inspiration.