Thanks to dear Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to Dale for the photo.
In this winter twilight, a thick mist shrouds the silhouette of a lone walker. The winter solstice has just passed.
I step up to my friend’s front door. Inside there is a wood burning stove, square and red with a glass panelled door. Its burning logs flare and dance with bright energy, a miniature stage.
Standing in front of the stove, we are wrapped in warmth. I shrug off the wintry chill of the outside evening and sigh with pleasure, like a dog curled up on the hearthrug.
How things were and will be again.