Snowy woods

She’d been reading a book about creative visualisation and now, finished, she decided to retreat inside her imagination for a while. She imagined the landscape of her life as a dark and endless forest during the winter. The ground was covered with a few inches of snow and there was no light in this forest, except for the moon which reflected dully off the white powder and sometimes made the silver birch trees shimmer. Little silver knives of flickering light. It was silent here. That eerie, muffled snow silent. The forest grew blacker and murkier in the distance. She imagined it never ended. It went on and on and on and it was all the same.

Yet here, in the centre, she decided to create something new. A heart. It grew up from the icy ground slowly. Cracking and twisting as it went. At first a big heap of black soil and roots. A lump. But it shifted and changed and edges were defined and accentuated. She worked it like soft clay.

Before long it began to look like a house – a small cottage with a thatched roof –and she made it gorgeous. She put all the warmth of her soul into its creation. Everything about it was good. There were small bulbous windows filled with pot plants that seemed to blossom in abundance despite the snow. Cherry red curtains hung around them, tied up with thin pretty white ribbons. The door was strong and sturdy wood, also with a little window at the top, and warm light shone through it and cast its glow onto the snow.

Anyone walking in the desolation of these woods would want to go inside, but then she fashioned a lock and the lock was fastened. ‘This is my heart’ she said. ‘And within it lies comfort and happiness and only the good things I wish to keep inside it.’ She drew a solid silver key from her dressing gown pocket; it glistened faintly in the dark. She inserted it in the lock, turn it firmly and went within.

The cottage was warm and cosy. A small log fire burnt in the corner. Sofas to sink into and dream framed the room and there were colourful crochet blankets of every woollen colour from the rainbow. A small cat lay by the fireside and he was black and he looked at her with beautiful sea blue eyes. On the kitchen table were a multitude of decorative mugs. All steaming with hot, delicious comfort and a plate piled high with sweet and savoury pastry delights that made the mouth water. ‘These are for my guests. For those I love who I allow into my heart.’ She said, and then she took one and curled up with the cat on a sofa nearest to the fire.

For a while they sat watching the fire flicker, snap and pop. She, content to just be still and the cat, happy enough to allow a low steady purr. Somewhere during that time she noticed the grandfather clock in the corner ticking softly. She checked the time. It was twenty to midnight. Later she would hear soft, padded footsteps growing closer from outside.

She knew who it was for he had once lived here with her. Eventually, she went to the door and opened it. The cat followed, entwining its fluffed up tail around her leg.
‘Hello,’ she said calmly through the snow. It was falling gently now.
‘Hello,’ he echoed back.
‘I suppose it is rather cold out?’
‘Yes, it is rather.’
'Have you come a long way?'
'You can't imagine.'
'Actually, I think I can. Would you like a drink? Something warm?'
‘Yes…Thanks.’
‘You know you can’t come in.’
‘I know.’