Warm winter evening

This winter seems to stay long. Sun sank lower in the sky to the velvety dark of night. The icy wind hissed in. The cold licked at my face. The biting cold chilled my fingers into clumsy numbness. I went forward to shut the window. Even inches away from the window it's like standing in front of an open refrigerator. The window is single pane, coloured white just to get along with the classy, cosy room with cream coloured walls. 

The fireplace is my tiny sun for the evening. The yellow flames flickered and danced. I cradle the soup with two hands and let the warmth of the mug defrost my fingers. Hot food is a luxury I don't often indulge in, but life can't be all cold canned soup. The air is thick with the scent of coffee.

Glittering snowflakes fell soundlessly, taking their time before they reached their destined places of rest. The snow hugged the houses on the street like a day old baby, new and clingy. The trees seem unaware of the load being gathered on their branches. It feels as if they are sleeping. I half expect these trees to sneeze because of the snow they are carrying, sending it directly on the white ground. No sooner had the car's icy tracks been imprinted on the road, they were erased by an onslaught of fresh white snow.

I quietly sat on my armchair, watching the peaceful and beautiful atmosphere being created on the other side of the transparent window. The armchair was something like a creamy leather marshmallow. It is the kind of chair that children love and older people see as a backache waiting to happen.

Now there was complete silence in the room. It lingered in the air, thick and heavy, like a blanket. The silence stretched thinner and thinner, like a balloon blown big. The room is surrounded by the ticking sound of the clock. It is my grandfather's clock. This old, golden clock is probably older than my grandfather. I stared at it for a few minutes, noticing how round the shape of this clock is. It's hands moved slowly compared to other younger, energetic clocks. It seems as if it's time is nearly up but, till then it still has a purpose.

Gazing at our family photographs, all memories flooded in my mind. I love these pictures. I can see my mother's love and my father's child-like spirit. I need these memories to stay with me forever. I need these memories to stay with me forever, I need them to soothe me when the bad ones threaten to erase all traces of those people I still hold dear, even in their absence. They are the evidence of the beautiful souls that belong even to those who made the worse mistakes.

The old wooden floor was cold and dark. My feet could no longer bear the cold surface and I hopped like a rabbit on the rug. The rug is of delicate green colour and looks as is purchased from an uptown store. It was soft underfoot, and warmer than the wooden floor around. It could have been made from fine wool, yet in truth the fibres were made from plastic bottles. I used to sit on it, making sounds, away in my own imaginary world.

It's dark now and the snow is still falling, clumps of wet flakes drifting endlessly down. The flames grew hot and filled the fireplace with their wrath and fury. They refused to be contained, condemned to die into ashes, a tame fire.

Today's evening was really slow and quiet like a tranquil lake. This warm winter evening is unforgettable as it has created a magical atmosphere around me. It is as magical as Hogwarts.

-DC