Whitescapes: aching for my wonderland

I sit by my window, with my camera, as my friends throw snowballs at my windowpane. I'm safe. I smile.

I left home early this morning for the dance studio. As I stepped out, I was struck by a white blanket. A blanket that covered everything, There was no grass, no path, no shoe prints, just white. I smiled.

As the morning unfolded, many more awoke to whitescapes from their bedroom windows, and I'm sure, too, they smiled. A man falling of his bike, snowmen across what once were grass patches, snowball fights, slippery streets, cautious cars, unconcerned ducks wadding around...

Yet, there was a sadness that lingered. A quiet, subtle one that sat silently in the corner. Not upsetness but a sadness. A melancholy that freezes the heart; so frozen that the hand hurts when it beats the heart.

Wouldn't it be nice to have warm tea, toast, juice for breakfast in a warm kitchen, as you gaze out to the gentlemanly snowscape? I smile at the thought of someone in the empty chair next to me. But who?

Uncle T