The door to the living room opened, spilling cheer into the hallway like light. John basked, then turned to watch Lyra as she cracked the door behind
her, and joined him at the window. She read his troubled heart before he could and followed his gaze outside. "Is something the matter
dear? Henry was making such a racket that I just had to come find you. Have you been here the whole time?"
John nodded, searching the warmth in her eyes before turning back to look out at the frozen expanse beyond the large cabin. Nestled within the frosted
pane, he was warm, armed with a mug of cocoa and a soft, cozy robe. He sought for words that could capture the expansiveness of his emotion. He turned
from the window and submitted to her kind, tender gaze, relinquishing his heart and telling her, half through words and half through his troubled
gaze, about the terribleness of winter. As he listened to himself, he felt embarrassed, as if he were a child seeking comfort from some nightmare he
had. He was saved from feeling foolish by his wife's guileless brown eyes, and, emboldened, went on with greater clarity.
Lyra listened intently, her eyes widening at the ferocity with which he described the winter chill. Through his words she caught glimpses of an enemy
in the still, silent embrace of frozen eternity, reaching out with grasping tendrils of frost to rob the world of life and vitality. She was a perfect
listener, gasping and clutching his arm, stealing a glance out the window at the right time, for even if she couldn't share his vivid sense of
reality, she sure loved the hell out of it. When he finished laying out his troubled heart to her, she frowned thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling as she
wondered how she could lift his spirits to defeat this newest foe.
"Well, isn't it so that we can warm ourselves up from the cold? We warm ourselves up, and build fires, and make coats. We tell stories
and share laughter and forge bonds deeper than the layers of frost threatening to steal their way inside. If you are wary of the chill, then let us,
your family, be your igloo."
She was not as good at putting words together like he was and she didn't quite understand him fully. But she pieced a few things together and told him
some words that she thought would inspire him. It was her favorite thing, to watch the slow smile born on his face in moments like those, when he
began to grow, and she cherished him all the more, for his vivid sense of certainty and seriousness with which he captured such fantastic scenes.
John chuckled at his own expense, marveling himself at how simply his wife made things seem every time he got swept away. It was, indeed, poetic, how
mankind gathers for merriment and cheer as bastions within the cruel, cold months in which winter has wrapped her hold around the globe. he smiled
warmly, remembering that it is the stories that we weave together that make all the difference. With that, they joined for a warm, slow embrace...
When they drifted apart, her eyes fluttered open and sought him questingly. When she found no trace of the previous shadow, she smiled warmly.
Allow me to grab the journal, dear. It's not just Henry, I am afraid the kids are asking after you as well...
She laughed as she let her hand part from where it had lain on his collar, because he nodded and smiled softly, almost sheepishly. He gazed
thoughtfully out the window for a moment more, taking a final sip of his cocoa, then left to rejoin the merriment. As he opened the door to the living
room and was enlivened, he thought of his wife's words to take encouragement from their family. 'Well, tis the season after
He thought humorously to himself, before his thoughts were swept away by the tide of joy that was the kids clutching around his
When the door closed behind him, Lyra turned her warm eyes out to watch as the snowflakes danced gently. Her husbands words echoed softly as she
gazed... It was indeed a dance of death, a slow contortion to the sound of silent infinity. She could not help but shiver softly, but then she closed
the curtains of her heart and easily left such thoughts behind. There was a warmth in her heart that no frozen dagger could ever pierce, and she left
to search the study for the old, barely legible journal that Henry made John drag out every year to brag to his business friends about.
Outside, though no one could hear but you and I, the wind heaved a sigh. So close...
edit on 4-12-2021 by LucidWarrior because: mostly spellcheck, minor revision