The room was cold, god knows the last time they’d been able to pay the heating bill.
Winter had claimed Toronto for her own while they slept.
He had woken first, cold because she had stolen the better part of the one thin blanket on their bed.
When he wrapped himself round her to share it, the first slivers of dawn slanted through the frost glazed window.
Brilliant, cold and beautiful, creating Chantilly lace patterns across the bare floor of their room.
His artist’s heart ached with the beauty of it, this exquisite gift from December and he felt hope stir again.
It had been absent for a very long while…
He looked down at her, gently brushed the errant curls out of her eyes, whispered her name.
When she opened her eyes, a sleepy reproof on her lips; he touched a finger to them and gently turned her face to the curtainless window.
She stared for a moment and then swung her legs over the side of the bed, excited as a child, exclaiming “Oh! So beautiful!”
“Yes, beautiful”, he thought as he looked at her silhouetted against the light, and he stood, grabbing the blanket from the bed.
Walking up behind her, he wrapped the blanket round the two of them, holding her tight as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder.
They had been both cold and hungry for the last two nights. But held by each other in the sun, everything was beautiful and all was endless possibilities.
Holding tight to his arm circling her waist, she reached to trace a heart in the frost on the window.
He in turn, ran his fingers down her arm, and took her hand in his. Bringing it to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips.
The touch of his mouth caused shivers that had nothing to do with the cold…
Then he reached their hands together to the glass and wrote their initials inside the heart. “P & K” 4VR.
And she believed him…
Previously published in Every Picture Tells A Story by Karin Bole Tupper… sometimes winter isn’t all bad…