The snow falls quietly in the dark woods, laying a white blanket of silence over the charming cabin. Clouds of smoke pour out of the chimney. A warm glow illuminates from the two front facing windows, inviting me in from the bitter cold. The steps of the porch creak as I make my way to the front door, the handmade rocking chairs sway in the snowy winds. When I enter,I am immediately enveloped in the warmth provided by the red brick fireplace, in the corner of the room. I hang my snow soaked jacket on the coat hanger next to the door, and throw off my boots. I walk across the one room cabin, to a small kitchen, with black and white checkered floors, and 1950’s era appliances. The small window above the sink, reveals a moonlit lake just a few feet away, and behind the lake, beautiful snowcapped mountains resting against a blanket of stars. I turn to a pastel green coffee maker on the counter, and search the cabinets for a tin of coffee grounds and filters. I start a pot and the smell of Folger’s begins to invade my nostrils. I take a white mug out from the cabinet closest to the refrigerator and place it down next to the gurgling coffee maker. I step off the tiled floor of the kitchen and onto the cherry wood floor that covers the rest of cabin. I walk to the middle of the room and let the feeling of serenity wash over me. In front of the fireplace is a brown couch, with a red woolen blanket draped over it and an ottoman, for warming your feet in front of the fire. A small end table sits to the right of the couch and atop it sits a small lamp, perfect for reading. On the wall to the left of the fireplace stood three tall, mahogany bookcases filled with many great works of literature. I run my fingers against the bindings, searching for the perfect book to nestle in with, when I hear the coffee maker begin to beep.
A cold breeze sweeps through the cabin. I turn to see the front door open and someone standing in the doorway. It was him. My eyes widen and I forget for a moment how cold it is. “How did you get here?” I ask, looking him up and down. His presence sends a shiver down my spine. He takes off his coat and kicks off his boots, as he closes the door behind him. He walks across the room, headed towards the kitchen and smiles at me. He pours himself a cup of coffee, then pours out a cup for me. “How did you get here?” I repeat, more urgently this time. Only I knew about this cabin. How did he know about this place? He walked toward me, handing me my cup of coffee and looked at me with those green eyes that melt me to my core. “You invited me here” he says and takes a sip of coffee, “why else would I be here?”. I looked around the cabin. This was the place I went to when the world got to be too much, when I needed to silence my mind. Why would I want someone else in my happy place? He got up to examine the bookshelves. He grabs a leather copy of “The Count of Monte Cristo” and retreats to the couch. I watch him as he basks in the glow of the fire, drinking his coffee and reading. I sit down next to him and stare into the dancing flames, thinking of the only reason why he would be here, after all the countless times I had been here alone. Sitting on this couch with him, wrapped in a warm wool blanket, feeling the heat from the fire and watching the snow fall quietly outside the window, was my happy place.
So, why am I so terrified?
Until next time,
The Greenest of Blues