I curl up under a blanket in the plush chair besides the fire as white flakes dance beyond the panes of my windows. Bright Colorful leaping tongues of fire slide on the driftwood, crackling and scenting the air around me. From the phonograph comes the soothing tones of Mozart's Requiem lulling me into a peaceful relaxed mood. Holding a hot mug in both hands, I sip down scalding coffee as I stare into the flames. The light of the fire glints off the swords hung over the fireplace, reflecting soft light onto the stone walls of my residence. I am alone and content, far from another one of the world's troubled souls. It is Christmas, yet the presents lay unopened on the table. Their glitzy wrappings and tinsel, promising of desired contents, mean little to me. They serve as a symbol of my friends, who remember me, the best gift. No tree is put up in my house, for outside, my cliff is covered in soft fragrant evergreens. No other soul stirs, all have holed up in their own cozy homes. The scent of chocolate cake mingled with that of the fire and the coffee I drink fixes in my mind, a memory of happiness in my home. It is winter.
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