There is nothing in the world, Jaimie thought, that could compare to the sound of Mother Nature blowing through sleepy hollows and frozen lakes. Especially in the North country, where no towering office buildings or angry engines would interrupt her sweet song. Jaimie could tell a storm was coming now, by the way the wind whistled outside, ominously. A call to the wild that sent chills down one’s spine when it whispered along the back of the neck. But in the same instant, the song of the winter was serene.
Tossing a log into the stone hearth, which was ablaze with heat and flame, Jaimie tugged at the woollen plaid throw. It lay folded atop the spine of the olive green corduroy couch that had once been his mother’s, waiting for a cozy day such as this. He let the blanket fall open as he creaked across the hardwood and folded into the scarred leather chair by the window.
From the sill, Jaimie surveyed what was left of his four room bungalow. Furnishings were sparse since Georgie had left. Taken everything except for the bare bones and the kitchen sink. The wind howled threateningly through the shaker-style slats around him. Jaimie saw then that the skeleton of his little cottage was no warmer than the blood running through his own veins. Empty.
In an attempt to warm his own insides more so than his frozen toes, Jaimie dragged the leather wingback up to the fire and settled into it. No book, no television; just the crackling of embers and visions of snowflakes floating on the wind like dancing ice fairies. Although low-hanging clouds cast the Earth in shades of heather and coal, there was still enough light sneaking through to make the frost sparkle.
Jaimie smiled at that. There had hardly been any sunlight since Georgie left. But in the growing comfort of the fire, Jaimie new that Mother Nature would soon pull him back into her warm embrace once again.