Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Sam reached down and touched Jake, his black lab. "Well, old boy, I guess we're in for a quite a storm. I better let you out before it gets too bad." Sam Turner had moved to this cabin three years ago. He loved looking out over the craggy Adirondack mountains. Sam released the wood latched door and Jake went flying out landing in a powder puff of light snow. Sam laughed, closed the door and put another piece of wood in the pot belly stove. He reached up and took the cast iron frying pan off the wall and began to prepare his breakfast. Soon, he heard Jake barking. Jake must have found a rabbit thought Sam as he placed the bacon strategically into the black pan. He looked out the window and saw Jake digging into the snow trying to find his rabbit. However, as Sam turned back to his cooking, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something red. He jerked back around and looked again. Was Jake cut?
Grabbing his jacket off the hook, Sam ran out the door. "Hey, Jake, come; come!" he shouted. Jake whined looked at him and looked back at the snow. Now Sam could see that the red was a piece of something blowing in the wind. Fighting the wind, he made his way over to Jake where he immediately saw that it was a red scarf. He began pawing at the snow and soon discovered that the red scarf belonged to a woman.
She groaned, "Uhh." My God, she is still alive! Sam lifted her up and slogged through the snow to the cabin. He placed her on the couch, began warming her hands with his, and ran to get a blanket. What was this girl doing out here? There were no roads close by. How did she even get here? No matter, she was half dead and he needed to get her warm. He began unbuttoning her black wool coat.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
|Painting by David Bradshaw|
Wind whips across the frozen waters wailing like a wounded woman. Snow tears past me crashing into the great Seward Mountains rolling like a tidal wave back upon itself. I clutch my coat tighter around my trembling body.
I see a light. I think, it is a campfire realizing in the next instant that it cannot be real. No one would build a campfire in a blizzard.
I move onward. Behind the white curtain of snow, yellow flames flicker and like a moth to flame, I pull one foot at a time out of the sucking thigh-deep snow inching my way toward the image. Now, I can see that the light is coming through a window. My cold heart begins to thump. I try to hurry, but my lungs burn as I try to breathe. How long have I been walking? How did I get here?
Suddenly, I see it! It is a cabin set high on a knoll nestled among the cedars taunt with strain from the horrific winds that beat against my head tearing at my thin red scarf. "You will not kill me!" I shriek like a madwoman to the wind. I clutch my scarf to me. The wind lost this time.
I am still alive, but as I continue my slow trek up the knoll, I wonder why I keep falling. It is not such a big hill, yet my boots slide and now I am a reptile crawling on all fours. I see the door. I see the wooden handle made from the tree branch. I fall on my face. Icy needles poke into my skin. I move my head and stare at the light. I am so tired. I try to yell but there is no sound. I cannot move. I am so close. Please somebody. Snow races in like a thousand white vultures covering me. I am now one with the silent snow-covered landscape of the little cabin on the river (to be continued)