Fresh snow, new dreams….

Fresh snow, light as a feather, fell in sporadic bursts. It lasted long enough to envelop everything it touched. The cold winds wiped out the sun and blue sky in just a few moments as he gazed out of the window that was getting frostier by the minute.

The steaming coffee turned stone cold, time stood still a few sips later his hand remained suspended mid-air. He felt something steely cold and sharp pierce through his heart, causing him to cringe momentarily. It wasn’t the first time; there were occasions when he thought he’d suffocate as the pain drained his life energy. And then it would be gone as quickly as it came, leaving him bereft, devoid and cold.

He opened the door and let himself out, oblivious to the freezing temperatures and sudden stillness around him. His gait was steady but effortless at the same time, a complete opposite to what he was going through or had gone through.   

Shoveling off the snow from the narrow path and easing the part below the wicket gate making sure it could swing open; he retraced his steps, making his way to the farthest end of the garden.

Lowering himself gingerly on to the bench that looked like a demure sleeping beauty and Snow White mix, he sighed and gulped in some chilled air.

Snowfall had stalled for a bit and that gave him some time to settle down more comfortably on the bench.

They laughed till the tears rolled down their cheeks; frolicking in the snow for hours between being totally swamped by Bruno, his ever friendly Labrador.  Some evenings all they did was go for long walks just to be one with the crisp, pure breeze and watch the Sun go down, bathed in the last soft rays of the orange orb.

Many sun-downs had passed since. He waited all year for the snow to fall and paint the earth a pristine white. Every snow flake that caressed his cheek and slowly caked his beard brought back a rush of emotions: feelings he thought he was not capable of or were way beyond him, till some summers ago, when in a fit of rage he’d walked away never to return.

Infrequent were the occasions when he’d smile: in the sparsely populated neighbourhood, only few had noticed him rejoice and that too was extremely rare. Bruno the second, perhaps was the only one, who empathized and understood him, a doting constant companion, who asked for very little in return.   

Oblivious to the heavy snow, his shoulders weighed down; his beady eyes stood out in his otherwise mask like visage. Slumped on the bench, every beat of his heart was distant and painfully slow.

He sat transfixed, Bruno the second sniffed the cold frozen air frantically, picking up a scent he darted to the gate at the speed of lightning, surprisingly he didn’t bark—though not related to Bruno the first, he was a complete image of him—she was dressed in her favourite colour, hard to miss anywhere but most of all on the whitest of white snow; her silhouette transcending time and space edged toward him and then he saw her head to toe draped in black. Black, that was the complete opposite of her.

His shoulders straightened, his limbs uncurled as if the sudden warmth ensconced the cold, cruel-callous heart and made his cross seem lighter as he lost himself in her embrace.

Bruno the second settled down after a quick romp in the snow, trying to catch his forty winks as his master’s circuitous crucible finally thawed…          

©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap