The Winter we kept

For days, the cold had paralysed his senses and robbed him of any pleasure in the taste of food. Today was the first day his nose had been clear for more than a few minutes and he was treated to a sweet smell. The intense, resinous, fresh scent of pine was the first thing he noticed as he entered the living area and made him linger at the foot of the stairs for a few minutes.

Before him was a Christmas-like sight. The small Nordmann fir was festively decorated, the fairy lights shining brightly between the green-blue, silvery shimmering needles. Once again, small glittering red and gold baubles hung from the tree, and a few narrow strips of gold tinsel completed the picture. Occasionally, homemade wax stars would hang between the branches. For each inconspicuous star, he remembered exactly how he had made it.

Smiling, he looked away from the tree and walked to the kitchen to his left. The thought of fresh coffee filled him with almost unbridled joy. He carefully took his wooden grinder from the cupboard and the tin containing the roasted coffee beans. After placing the beans in the grinder, he turned the small crank until the beans were reduced to a fine powder. They were already giving off a strong, spicy aroma. Then he turned on the kettle, which he had previously filled, and tapped the rest of the powder from the grinder into the small filter that stood on top of the cup.

He slowly poured the hot water into the filter, and while he waited for the water to drip through the filter, he cleaned the grinder and put it in the small silver basket to dry. Then he took his fragrant coffee and went into the conservatory. He placed the cup on the oval glass table in front of the light blue sofa and walked over to the fireplace in the corner by the sliding door to the living room.

Carefully and with practiced skill, he stacked the wooden sheaths on top of each other, pushed a small opening open and lit a thin stick, holding it to the small ball of crumpled wood strips. Soon flames licked up the wood and gradually ignited the thin pieces of wood in the fireplace. There was a soothing crackle, and he closed the door. Soon the small fireplace would fill the conservatory with a cosy warmth and the pleasant smell of pine wood would be everywhere.

Wrapped in a warm woollen blanket, he snuggled up on the sofa and looked out of the large window that looked out over the fields. Meanwhile, there was a crackling sound in the fireplace. The flames spread up the wood and flickered restlessly behind the viewing glass. Outside, the world was shrouded in a cold white blanket, which until recently had sparkled in the few rays of daylight. Now clouds were moving in front of the sun, blocking its rays. The soft blue disappeared and everything was bathed in grey.

He sipped the coffee. Full-bodied yet smooth, the taste filled his palate and made him sigh in relaxation. Thick snowflakes floated down outside the window. In the stillness they looked almost like white rain and blocked the view of the fields. The snowfall grew thicker and filled him with joy.

Memories of his youth came flooding back. His move to the old farm, before it had been restored and now belonged to him. He had moved from the city to the country, a change that had been difficult for him at first. But as a painter, it was easier for his mother to have her own studio in the country than in the city. The pigsty next to the main house was the first to be extended, creating a spacious studio with plenty of daylight, where she produced many of her best works.

After a while, he had built up a circle of friends and no longer missed his old home. He liked the peace and quiet he found outside the small village, and it was here that he met his first love. As the snow danced wildly past the window in the rising wind. He remembered a day he had spent with her in the driving snow. She lived not far from the farmhouse in a neighbouring village and liked to visit him when they had time. In his mind, he remembered that day as if it were today.

Wrapped up warmly, they trudged through the snow that crunched under their boots. They were going to build a snowman on the meadow behind the house, and they had brought some tools from the studio. Small objects that could be used to make sculptures out of clay. Wrapped up in warm clothes, they thought about what beautiful creations they could make from this endlessly available material. The girl thought of making a mermaid, while he thought of a dragon. Surely the two young people would have settled their differences before anything could be seen. Otherwise they might end up with a hybrid creature, a mermaid-dragon. When the girl said this, he looked at her in surprise and shook his head, laughing. He really couldn’t imagine such a thing.

First they gathered the snow and laid a firmament for their sculpture. Then small piles of snow began to form parts of their snow sculpture. He had ventured on the head and torso of a dragon, while she worked on the tail of a mermaid. The bodies became like a natural act in the scales of one. But before they could look at the work in its entirety, things happened as they had to. One careless step and the girl fell on the extraordinary snowman, which crumbled beneath her body and became an unrecognisable mass. Before she could react to the destruction with sadness or anger, his bright laughter rang out, and she immediately joined in.

A clatter in the kitchen jolted him from his thoughts and he looked through the glass door that separated the conservatory from the living area. His wife greeted him happily, wiping her grey hands on a cloth. Then she ran towards him, smiling.

“How are you? You were still asleep when I got up,” she said in a cheerful voice, sitting down next to him. He returned her smile and, without saying a word, picked up the now lukewarm cup of coffee. She immediately understood what that meant and gave an enthusiastic “ah”.

“Do you remember the snowman that was never finished?” he grinned and immediately added without pausing, “I was just thinking about that.” – “Me too,” she replied and went into the kitchen. When she returned, she held a small grey sculpture in her hands. The torso and head of a dragon and the scaly tail of a mermaid. “When I came downstairs this morning, I was thinking about that day and I thought it would be fun if we finally gave the creature a shape,” she said as he weighed the creature in his hands and looked at it with a grin. “This is exactly how I remember it.”