The snow is falling quietly outside. I gaze out the frosted window and see nothing but white and the deep blue evening. (It is Christmas eve.)
A small fire lights my cottage, my only source of warmth as well. This winter is cold, too cold. A shiver passes through me as I take a seat by the fire. (No memories keep me warm.)
There is a plate of roasted pork chops on my lap, partnered with mashed potatoes showered with torn up thyme and basil. A can of cola washes it down. (If I take wine, I will just stumble further).
My chewing and the cracking of the fire are the only sounds in my home. Chew. Crack. Chew. Crack. Swig of the drink. It would be nice if a dog were at my feet so my toes wouldn’t freeze so much. (I am alone. I am lonely.)
There were carolers the other nights. I pretended there was nobody home. I listened to them till they walked away, still singing. I remembered Jake, Billy, Chuck and Roanne. (They weren’t absent. They were never there.)
The snow is falling quietly outside. I stand by the window and press my face against the glass. The sheen across the sky makes me feel I am in a snow globe. (I wish someone would shake it. I wish someone would turn it upside down. Just so I’d know someone’s out there. Just so I know someone knows I am here.)
(Written Nov. 7, 2007. Image from Pixabay)