The cold has frozen the joints of time. Seconds and minutes hobble along like senior citizens at Gala Bingo.
Towels fresh out of the dryer are spread on the sofa. She burrows in to their warmth and cookie dough smell.
Perhaps when she resurfaces it will be Spring. But it is only quarter to five.
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4 comments:
strong words but they spell out the scene soooo well...
ah a joy it is to read your prose.
keep 'em coming.
How goes?
Yeah, winter sucks. Except for the bit where you're under a warm and toasty rajai with a book in your hands and maybe hot soup later.
Hot towels from the dryer are on my list of 'best things' in life. :D
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