Doug: Warmth

It’s cold in the house. Our windows are single pane, and some of them don’t close all the way. Our heater works, but my room is a weird addition, clearly not part of the original house plans, and none of the vents lead into it. But even with the heater the cold seeps in, it’s fingers finding their way between your toes, wrapping their way around your shoulders, and finding its way into the deepest marrow of your bones.

Some rooms are warmer than others. Oddly enough the basement is usually the warmest. Eric’s room takes the cake though, with an Xbox and computer running pretty much constantly, and a vent, he’s got it made. The living areas are okay. Though late at night when the heater shuts off the cold begins to find its way through the cracks.

Against this dark night is the fireplace. During the day it sits, empty, dark, with the dead bones of the last inferno scattered about. These bones, and the pile of stacked cordwood next to the fireplace, make coy promises of future comfort.

During the night it blazes. Light, heat, glory, all these radiate from the hearth. I see four pairs of feet worm themselves closer… closer, like Icarus they reach for the light. The light that spreads out like spilled honey encompasses the room, illuminating faces, smiles. A flash of light as a few loose rays are reflected off a pair of glasses. A hand searches and finds another, fingers lock in a loose, familiar fashion. Later there is marshmallows, chocolate, delicious sugary goodness. Sparks fly up as another log is thrown on; a sacrifice for the hungry god that protects us from the darkness.

The twined hands walk upstairs. They’re going to keep themselves warm.

The glasses and I stare at the fire for a long time. We speak in low tones. Not for fear of waking anyone up, but simply because it seems appropriate. Words flow out like water from a lazy creek. No rush, no hurry, nothing serious or complicated.

Observations, friendly jokes, stories of days gone by; the hours pass until the light and heat burns down. Eventually a comfortable silence falls, filled only by the snapping of the coals as they burn their way to oblivion.

Outside lies the cold dark night. Here in the warm center of my universe, all is well.

-Doug

"Dude. It's a tricorder."
-Marty Brantner, on the GE Healthcare Vscan