Doors To Mirrors (Excerpt 181) Symphony
Carl starts stomping his feet on a towel he left near the door. Once the snow has fallen from his boots, he pulls his stocking cap from his head, folds it neatly in half and places it on the shelf near the door. The fire in the wood stove is burning low which is how he likes it if he is away for more than an hour or two. Carefully he opens the little door to the stove and places two large logs inside.
“Ah that’s better, you’ll be heating up nicely in a minute or two.” He says with a laugh as if talking to a person but then he pauses and quietly whispers, “I miss you Josie.”
The little cabin, with its red and brown decor, is quiet until the whistle from the train blows loudly from the station. This is a welcomed sound for it means the trains may be running on schedule in no time.
“Glad to hear that sound.” Carl says as he walks over to the window and then glances at the clock to his left. “Right on schedule and up the mountain you go old girl!”
As the cheerful words leave his lips, there is a muffled step close by, as if someone has come up behind him in the room. Holding still, he listens intently and slowly begins to turn around, but in a swift and unexpected blow, darkness shields his eyes from sight as he falls to the floor.
A thick stream of smoke is swirling up through the chimney of Nadja’s cottage as icicles gently break away from the eves of the dwelling and fall into the snow with a heavy thump. This sound is duplicated by falling clumps of snow in the woods as birds land on small branches dropping the white fluffy puffs onto the undergrowth below. A slight wind begins to blow and with the movement of the trees, Viktor hears various sounds all around the area. Branches hanging low are rubbing against each other making slight groaning sounds and there is a constant dripping of snow from all around. Alongside the cottage, he hears the gurgling sounds from the brook and songs from the birds, which all seem to create a symphony in the woods.
“This place is amazing. I forgot what nature really sounds like.” Viktor says to himself as he sees the front door of the cottage open.
“Have you had enough?” Nadja says as she steps out onto the small concrete slab near the door.
Within seconds of her opening the door, the smell of fresh-baked bread tickles at Viktor’s cold red nose. He hopes his senses are not playing tricks on him for it has been at least fifteen years since he melted butter on bread fresh from the oven.
“Tell me you did!” He yells as he walks in Nadja’s direction.
“Oh I did for sure!” She says back as she grins.
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