Frozen words

     Pulling the tattered blanket closer to his chilled body, the man continued behind the typewriter with cold keys. Frost gathered on his window sills forming tiny crystals with unique designs that distracted him momentarily, but he soon went back to the story he was desperately trying to finish before his thoughts melted like the snowflakes, never to be seen again. The room was dark except for the two candles in a jar that grew dimmer with each passing hour. Soon he would be straining to look at his words and would rely on his memory of the keys he had been banging on for time unknown. His cat whose age was also unknown sat on his lap creating a warm spot that he was grateful for and showed his appreciation by softly rubbing her behind the ears which she very much enjoyed, showing her pleasure with soft low purrs.

     Well into the cold night he worked, the words mostly coming to him quickly but at times he had to reach deep into his thoughts and hope to retain it as another piece of the puzzle he was writing. Outside the wind had picked up creating a kind of chaos within him but allowing for a much-needed break. Grabbing on to the glass jar he made his way to the fireplace that had all but burned itself out. He had to pay more attention to the real world and climb out of his typewriter. Piling a few logs onto the embers, it didn't take long for the warmth to return to both the room and to himself. Taking a seat in his favorite chair directly across from his typewriter, he lit his pipe and stared at the box of memories just sitting there waiting for him to return and resume the rat a tat tatting of the keys. But his mood had been shattered for this night, all his words remained prisoners of his mind remaining there in the darkness.

     Tomorrow would show up with freshly fallen snow and crystalized windows. His cat would eat a hearty breakfast then settle into her favorite chair waiting for him to sit down, pull the tattered blanket closer to his cold body and once again start the soothing sounds of the old typewriter keys banging out memories as fresh as that fallen snow.

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