Winters heart

Gnarled fingers pulled low at his wide black brimmed hat obscuring his deep etched face into the depths of a silhouette. Shielded away from bitter winds tugging tears from his eyes. Ruefully peering under the brim at the forlorn roadside hovels and shanties barely erect, but dwellers defiant against the odds, braving solaced faces, all mimicries. Sighing at their feeble attempts and dreams he slowly trudged on in the thick slush, despite the razor sharp wind that sliced into his bones, which relentlessly and seldom-ness stopped whipping at his oiled fur lined cloak.
Drab and darkness consumed his attire reflective of what is within him, trapped in an emotionless void. By right he seemed to be a trudger, ever wandering, ever alone, bereft of friends and hope, that long ago failed him and broken faith that will never be anew. 1

The notes of melancholy on the wind, hints at what may surpass in the scant and desolate landscape. Bleakness that steals the senses in this winter asylum ruthlessly compresses around him. Shuttering against the dampness that has settled into his breaches and stout woolen coat, he almost picks up pace as he sees the welcoming light flooding through frosted windows. Momentarily he feels as if death would revoke the right of life, but chuckles quietly under a frosted breath and realizes, who is he to speak, as he approaches a weather worn tavern of cracking plaster, full of desolate souls, glum just like him, trying to escape the icy breath of mother nature. On creaky hinges a cracked and decay wooden sign “the willow wept’ fitted the mood perfectly.2

Glancing at the gray sky, twilight ever pressing on, glint of silver, a sliver of a crescent moon infiltrating the swollen macabre clouds humming a tune of death and emphasizing the achromatic land. Upon opening the door a gush of sweet sweet life and heat hits him but it still doesn’t take the numbness away. Roars of laughter enticed the room, yet there is a glumness some not looking up from their mug of ale and brandy, eyes low cast and pensive. The others who are laughing have a pained strain behind their eyes, trying to forget and drown their sorrows. 3

A fiddle playing widely with a hint of sadness that tinges the air with its notes. Aroma of warm spiced wine consumes the thick heated air. Serving girls winding a path through the bustle, with high necked navy linen dresses, pulled tightly accentuating their curves, behind clean white aprons. The interior is modest and unpretentious. A lone table near a lone window in a lone corner beckons him with approval. Worn and well used he sits moping over a mug of ale, slopping over onto his once sun drenched wrist and hand. He drinks deeply, yearning for solitude, thinking he may retire early tonight. gazing lazily out on the not so meek and palid snow, into the bleakness, a beauty, so deep so pure, the air of innocence surrounds and embraces like a radiant aura fills his vision. A lone girl standing as a statue would, just staring, nothing more. The algidity seems to surpass her, never seeming to touch her delicate frame. Though dressed in a fine cut coat and cloak of drab hues she brings a liveliness to a everlasting benumbing. Raven hair that is straight and sleek frames her delicate wan complexioned face. Almost doll like. Plump lush cherry lips forms a pensive pout, emphasizing her rosy high cheekbones. A glint, a glimmer in her warm green eyes tell of tales in the waiting and those that have come to past. Those eyes heeding. Mystery consuming her smooth porcelain skin, her lip twitched to form a brief hint of a smile, a knowing smile. Vigor radiated from her very being, laughing lightly, the old man at the window saw her briefly flash a laugh. Turning his head to the common room, he felt light.
Peering back he saw what he thought was a glimmer of a dark shadow running, shaking his head wondering if he was imagining this eminent spirit and rare beauty. A residue of a handprint is all that is left on the edges of the frosted panes that is wiled by the aged oak. A extra laugh floods the room. A new hope in the winters heart has awakened from it’s deep slumber. 4