Snowfall

A gust of wind brings in a flurry of bright, white flakes. The snow glances off the cobblestone path, swirling throughout the cracks. A lone light shines through a window, the snowbank below reflecting its flickering gleam. Within the room beyond lies a chesterfield across from a hearth. A book, its green cover cracked and worn from the many hands that have caressed its surface over time, lies open and face down on the couch. The hearth itself, filled with warm glowing embers, casting a red glow across the room, muting the colours of the floral-print on the walls across.

The door to this domain, decorated with the holly-wreath of a holiday gone by, opens to the uninviting cold, the warm light from the fire spilling out onto the harsh snow, illuminating the stonework path leading towards the gate. The silhouette of a dame stands, framed by the doorway, clutching a woollen sweater to her chest, fighting against the cold. She shivers, and wistfully looks out into the distance, attempting to shatter the veil of darkness surrounding this abode. Shaking her head, she turns back inside, and for a brief moment the flamelight catches within her large, glistening, brown eyes, sad eyes, eyes of someone that has been torn away from the one she loves most.

As the door shuts against the cold, a whisper can be heard above the keening of the wind. “Where are you?”