The First Day of Winter

Photographer Unknown

The two figures, protected against the bone chilling cold in long dark red woolen hooded jackets trimmed in fluffs of white and gray fur,  were drifting  through the snowy woods in the cold still air of the newly arrived winter.

One  figure  said to the other, ” Just think of this:  something could follow you through the snow, it could follow your tracks and bide it’s time before overtaking you. It wouldn’t matter if you screamed for help.  Nobody is out here on a day when the air is so cold that it will burn it’s way through your mouth and nose and set your lungs on fire.”

The figures stopped and looked at each other. One figure put out a black gloved hand and pushed at the other figure’s shoulder.

A sound passed between them, it was the sound of a brook rushing it’s way downstream during a rain storm.

It was laughter.

The figures turned and looked at the path behind them- there were no footprints, there were no tracks in the snow. There should have been puffs of their frozen breath hanging in the air, but there wasn’t.

” How long has it been since we’ve taken a  breath or left our own tracks in the snow?” one figure asked the other.

” I’m not sure that we ever have.” the second figure answered.

More, laughter. Crackleing, bonechilling, carefree laughter.

The two figures turned back to their path and glided along it without a care in the world.

Winter had arrived and with it came short bright days and woven through it were dark gray heavy threads that stitched the darkness and all of the creatures that live inside of it,  to the light as tight as muscle is attached to bone.


RDP Saturday: WEAVES



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