It was a little after half-past one on a chilly afternoon in early December. An elderly woman peered longingly through the front window of the tiny cottage she once shared with her husband. She looked cold, as frozen as she felt. She had been warned about hypothermia but could no longer afford the high heating bills. Her lean hand moved back and forth to wipe away condensation. She shivered. No one noticed her. Before the patch of bare ground, which sadly she called a garden, lay the remnants of an old brick wall, a crumbling ruin. Snowflakes were flurrying. No one came by. On such a day, and in such a quiet setting, why should they?
When you are all by yourself, time is not always a factor to be reckoned with. Thus it was that an hour slipped by and all remained tranquil. Snow had begun to accumulate and no longer could the old woman see the dirt and rubble in front of the cottage. Instead, she was confronted with a different scene, a much nicer one. Her eyes began to twinkle, and it was as if new hope, new life had been injected into her tired, worn-out body. In her soul, just for some fleeting moments, she was young again and ceased to tremble.
Two baby blue tits darted into view, their tiny blue-capped heads effortlessly surveying everything in the surroundings within a non-existent timespan. They seemed content with their lot and the old lady noted this with delight. Perching on the wooden post that stood crookedly up out of the ground a few feet from the window, how they loved to peck away at the string of peanuts this kind old woman had hung out for them first thing in the morning. These birds were reliable visitors.
By and by, everything before her was transformed into a wonderland of white. Trees put on an impressive display that cost nothing to behold. If the old woman had been able to bend a bit further forward and peer out sideways, she would surely have admired how Mother Nature had given every branch, each twisted twig of the giant oak at the corner of the narrow lane an upper layer of silver.
Then, as if from nowhere at all, the low December sun found a hole in some renegade cloud, beaming through it in the fullness of its splendor. The sight which befell her eyes was blindingly beautiful. There was a sudden sensation of warmth as some of the powerful rays penetrated the thin pane of glass in front of her.
A moment later, a little boy of no more than seven came trudging along well ahead of his mother, attempting to make fast headway over the new-fallen snow. As he passed the secluded cottage, his miniature red-and-blue winter outfit appeared to magnify the shy, innocent smile he gave the lonely old lady at the window. Yes, he had noticed her, and he could not imagine what that meant to her.
Very soon now it would be dark again. She slowly turned toward the inside of her room before sinking helplessly to the floor. In the fading light her face showed signs of peace unknown in almost a lifetime.
