“If the storm is coming either way, where would you rather be?” he asked.
Morning was still early. Sky was still gray, and windchimes of the neighborhood sounded on wind in blow out of south and east drawing into void and low-pressure front descending from north and west.
She thought about it. What did it matter? To be snowed and wintered in, life frozen and stilled for a time until the worst was past, what did it matter? Where would she rather be—city or countryside, before candled or fire hearth?
Clearly, he preferred.
“Where would you rather be?” she asked undecided in mind and her own preference.
“I’d rather be there,” he spoke. “I’d rather be in the woods and a world away, apart from the ridiculous of urban impetus to carry on, wrecks and messes all around. We could leave before it arrives, pack enough to stay for several days should it be as strong as they are calling. We could unpack and settle then leave car beside the road and walk the lane-trail back so not to be stuck so far should it really hit.
…I want to walk the woods as snowfalls down, or to watch from windowed view; either way—with you. I want to split wood for the hearth cleaning season’s fall in understory of the timber. I want to build a fire strong in hearth, and too in laurel stove—to be with you in the building strong and room-fill of the twin-flame heat.
I want to keep the fires strong, room warm as a summer heart through winter’s time—to walk naked and open and free, to love the open sight of you as you do the free of me.
I want to love you in the day. I want to love you in the night, in open strength before the fire and gentler in deeper space of room amongst shadows and softer light…”
His stomach compressed without control or guide. Flutter followed after, huffing and shortening breath in way of a boy in gaze and sudden pang before a crush.
All their years, it never changed.
He saw her smile, hue’s begin of warm and coloring of cheeks as she turned and looked from window’s vantage on sky and surrounding gray; song of the windchimes playing in portending of the front.
“When you say it like that,” she spoke. “I believe I want that too…”
Heart and stomach fluttered on, in pang of his want in desire and adore.