In a sigh of lamplight, rain drizzled down the hill. Damp. All was so very damp. It would take a magician grander than I to conjure heat from the shivering cold. The air was a scrooge, stealing warmth pennies it needed not. Eyes could not plead with city smog. Even the nightingales only leaked a slow lamenting warble.
“Twas a pernicious wind that cleared the path and froze the arboreal blooms, for it abhorred the largesse of Lady Autumn. Rather, it saluted only the greyest of solemnitude. This draft you see was a contemptuous fellow, as witty as he was prodigal. So whence comes he and doths his cap faux-earnestly – gesturing toward the leaf-strewn way, gesturing toward the defrocking trees, – I beseech you remember, remember, remember this forewarning. Let foreboding, let icy dread, fill both soles and heart. At once decry his surreptitious service and bay winter’s ghoul depart.
Upon that cold day she felt the calling of her own warm heart, as if in these quiet moments it was her home-song.
The cold day out there could only come as far as the window pane, inside the home-fire kept him cosy-warm.
The cold day was all around, yet her good memories lit a hearth-fire within.
On the cold days she took sanctuary in her own warm room, cuddled up, resting, letting her inner fire play happily within.