The Window

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A woman has a moment in which she reflects on a time when her children were young.

Submitted: May 06, 2017

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Submitted: May 06, 2017



She gazed at the blanket of snow that covered the backyard.

Except for a few windblown drifts, the surface was smooth and untouched, leaving the impression of a canvas without inspiration.

The sunlight hit the terrain with the intensity of a spotlight, harsh and unforgiving. The beauty of the austere setting lost to any audience.

Closing her eyes, she remembered a time when the white planes had been temporarily stamped with tiny footprints, lopsided  snowmen, half finished forts and empty angel moulds. The result,  a haphazard map with the frozen earth looking worn and valued.

How many hours had she spent in this very spot in her warm kitchen, stopping between some domestic chore to make sure that they were still safe and within her reach?

They would reluctantly come inside bringing with them the delicious scent of the cold. Laughing, she would pull their hats off, static making their fine golden hair stand on end.

Bright eyed and flushed, they would make a mad dash to the kitchen leaving behind puddles of snow and discarded boots. Soggy mittens and scarves would lie over the heat registers filling the house with the smell of warm wool.

Opening her eyes, she smiled as she recalled a time before her children's world had expanded far beyond the backyard. When she lived with noise, chaos and joy. When she was young and life was all around her.

The view from the windowpane is The quiet reflected from both sides of the glass. The living room clock chimes through the stillness reminding her that it is almost lunchtime.

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