Waiting

It was warm near the fireplace. The birch wood crackled loudly as it burned. The fire warmed me as I sat under a thick blanket and drank a cup of mulled wine. It was sweet and strong, and the wine came from a vineyard nearby where I would walk in the summer.

It was evening now and I sat alone. The radio was on and a light snow had started falling outside. I stretched my legs over the ottoman and leaned back in my chair. It was made of green canvas and was well broken in. I counted the seconds with the grandfather clock in the next room. Waiting, for your welcomed return.

 

 

Photo by Stéphane Juban on Unsplash

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