Book 19: Winter Arrives

Oakley

“Oakley,” Ian whispers, his voice filling the dreamscape I’ve been languishing in for the better part of the last hour. I open my eyes to our ceiling and faint silver light floating across the golden-brown logs. “It’s snowing.”

I sit up to look over his shoulders at the window beside our bed, where, sure enough, thick snowflakes fall in dizzying spirals. Beyond the window, the closest trees catch the snow, and their branches are now a bright white. Cold mist coats the corners of the windows, and ice crystals creep across the glass panes. 

Winter has come. 

There was a time when neither of us thought we’d see it again. 

I rest my chin on his shoulder. Instead of going back to sleep for another hour or two, we lie there side by side and watch the snow accumulate,