The cold didn’t bite. It penetrated, seeking shelter from even itself. Probing, it sought any and all warmth to neutralize. What was not covered was bitten – forced to admit its weakness. The wind was a straight line and relentless, pushing – no forcing the cold along. Imposing its will. It was no time to be out.She was at the front door fumbling for her keys. It was a struggle. Dexterity had taken leave of her fingers which, though gloved, were not immune from punishment. Stiff and sluggish, they were not up to the task. She needed him. The door opened. His simple smile began the warming process.
That smile. He was not a handsome man but he was her man and the most beautiful person she had ever known. He was home to her. Everyone needs a home. He had led her to the sofa, warming her first with blankets and tea and of course his hands which were always warm. Those hands – strong but gentle. She was their home.
By seven P.M. on that cold winter’s night, still on the sofa, they had drifted off – she with her head on his shoulder. And as always in these moments, their hearts chatted away.
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