The Secret Winter (Cont'd)
Slipper
I stood waiting outside the little general store for maybe three-quarters of an hour. I felt like a teenager again, just kinging around on the dusty wooden front porch of the place. It was a chilly day in December, and the remnants of the previous night's snow lay fresh upon the dreary ground. I yawned and wiped the sleep from my eyes. Groggy, yes, but then the cold always forces me to alertness.
So there I stood kicking about, waiting for something. For a moment I forgot my reason. I waited there for maybe three-quarters of an hour for the bent, old (though by all means indefatigable) shopkeep. He ascended the small stair to the porch deck with the heavy, measured step of a man relishing his own arrival. He looked up and gave me a warm greeting, which I duly reciprocated. He fumbled with some keys and let me in.
I just needed some lightbulbs, but I agreed to the old man's proffered coffee on the house. He and I made some idle chatter and exchanged obscene pleasantries. I finished the scalding, papery drink and went on my way. I heard the soft ca-chink of the bell on the door, and maybe some mumbled farewell too. Don't remember now.
I made my way lightly back down the fifteen-minute gravel path back to the cabin. I reached the steps with the sniffles. I then reached in my coat for the key and turned it in the lock. I entered the warm room and began to feel my age acutely. I turned towards the staircase: one flight up and another down. At the bottom of the darkened well I saw a small slipper.
Vulnerability can be the hearth of tenderest beauties, but never forget that in a world that is both cruel and unspeakable, fragility almost begs for abuse.
---
Those wails in the cold desert of this place. It's not quite so idyllic as I had hoped for us. A year ago I would have climbed the rising steps to you and all would be sacred, whispered oaths. Perhaps I would've waited until day had fully overtaken this shady town to go on my errands, to lose my age. Instead I couldn't stand that musty room a single waking second more. I took the flight of stairs down, picked up the slipper and replaced it snugly by its companion shoe. Next to the fire--alone, together.
Warmth...I almost forget the feeling.
I stood waiting outside the little general store for maybe three-quarters of an hour. I felt like a teenager again, just kinging around on the dusty wooden front porch of the place. It was a chilly day in December, and the remnants of the previous night's snow lay fresh upon the dreary ground. I yawned and wiped the sleep from my eyes. Groggy, yes, but then the cold always forces me to alertness.
So there I stood kicking about, waiting for something. For a moment I forgot my reason. I waited there for maybe three-quarters of an hour for the bent, old (though by all means indefatigable) shopkeep. He ascended the small stair to the porch deck with the heavy, measured step of a man relishing his own arrival. He looked up and gave me a warm greeting, which I duly reciprocated. He fumbled with some keys and let me in.
I just needed some lightbulbs, but I agreed to the old man's proffered coffee on the house. He and I made some idle chatter and exchanged obscene pleasantries. I finished the scalding, papery drink and went on my way. I heard the soft ca-chink of the bell on the door, and maybe some mumbled farewell too. Don't remember now.
I made my way lightly back down the fifteen-minute gravel path back to the cabin. I reached the steps with the sniffles. I then reached in my coat for the key and turned it in the lock. I entered the warm room and began to feel my age acutely. I turned towards the staircase: one flight up and another down. At the bottom of the darkened well I saw a small slipper.
Vulnerability can be the hearth of tenderest beauties, but never forget that in a world that is both cruel and unspeakable, fragility almost begs for abuse.
---
Those wails in the cold desert of this place. It's not quite so idyllic as I had hoped for us. A year ago I would have climbed the rising steps to you and all would be sacred, whispered oaths. Perhaps I would've waited until day had fully overtaken this shady town to go on my errands, to lose my age. Instead I couldn't stand that musty room a single waking second more. I took the flight of stairs down, picked up the slipper and replaced it snugly by its companion shoe. Next to the fire--alone, together.
Warmth...I almost forget the feeling.
posted by Lord Horatio at 11:43 PM
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