The first snow of the season drifted quietly from the heavens and settled on the stone walkway in the sleepy late afternoon light. Men and women in coats and cloaks bustled through the streets, hurrying home from work or errands, dodging carriages pulled along by pairs of horses or the occasional high-wheeled cart towed by ox or mule, racing the lamp-lighters and the chill, eagerly towards home and warmth and food and family. Some slipped into inns or taverns, seeking a hot meal, a crackling fire, or the warmth of cheap wine or ale in their bellies. Women wrapped in silks or fine wool, trimmed with furs as often as not, glided along the shops with brown-wrapped, twine-bound packages tucked under their arms, laced, booted heels clicking and clacking on the paving stones; gentlemen in dark coats stepped aside, tipping their tall hats to the ladies, making their way from their places of daily employ, some headed for the gentlemen’s club for a pipe and lively conversation, others home to wife and children and supper.
All in all, it was a pleasant sort of evening. Katerine couldn’t have been more pleased to see the snow as she stepped out of the booksellers shop, pulling the door shut behind her and plunging the key into its’ lock with a satisfying clink. Honey colored curls peeked out from beneath a pale fur-trimmed cap, a matching cape settled just-so over her shoulders atop her neat, if plain, wool frock. She was grateful for the thick wool stockings and sturdy laced boots as she slipped into the throng, breath misting in front of her as she began picking her way home. Blue eyes twinkled in the lamp light and her pale cheeks began turning rosy in the chill air.
Once she turned from the main boulevard and began her trek along a somewhat less busy side-street, she lay back her head and stuck her tongue out into the chill air to catch a delicate snowflake with a girlish giggle. This time of year left her feeling that magic was afoot; from the twinkle of the stars overhead, the golden gleam of the lamplights lining her way, to the warm crush of bodies on the sidewalk and the welcoming mirth of voices in the nearby inn. And, of course, the silver glisten of softly falling snow. Soon, she’d wake one morning to find the city blanketed with the silky white powder; children would be squealing in delight, chasing each other with snowballs, sliding down embankments with make-shift sleds, tromping through knee-high snow banks heedless of the cold and the wet, caught up in the glee of a winter playground. She longed for her own childhood days and the hours of freedom that at the time seemed so short and fleeting; though, in truth, her spirit retained more of that childlike wonder than most her age.
She was pleased to note, as she climbed the steps to the boarding house, that someone had placed a cheery evergreen bough, wrapped securely in a wide, crimson ribbon, to the heavy front door. Smiling, she inhaled the piney scent as she pushed her way inside. Warmth and light and the sounds of girlish chatter welcomed her home as she peeled off her gloves, cape and cap, and stepped into the front sitting room.
(Dec. 01, 2010)
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