On November 7, 2013 by Administrator

Warm rays slanted across the room, painting strips of soft yellow on the dark

floor. The windows were closed, blocking the icy breeze which chilled the bones.
The fire burned brightly. The sound of crackling wood, and the warm scent of

pine flooded the little cottage. The snow piled against the heavy wooden door,
its weight straining the rusted hinges. The aroma of brewing coffee and a
freshly baked apple pie filled the air. The armchair by the fireplace was old
and careworn; the unfinished quilt lay in a basket beside it, an array of
colorful patches. The carriage was in the barn, as was the chestnut mare,
covered in blankets to ward off the cold. There would be no going to church that




Comments are closed.