short stories

the small cottage

A little cottage, in the middle of a forest, that seems to have no end.

In spring nature will start to awake. Some little flowers will be brave enough to peek through the snow. They will be greeted by the first rays of sunlight and the first sounds of the birds, which are starting to welcome the life back in their lives. The little river will awake from its deep slumber. The water will start to flow and whispers to every flower and tree it passes „awake my friend, the sun is back, winter is beaten and we have to rise and fulfil our duties!" And nature will bloom and show itself from the most beautiful ways one can think of.

In summer the birds are singing and the river is singing too, a melody, with every splash of water that hits the rocks on its side, softened by the water and warmed by the sun.

Lazily some lizards will lay in the warm afternoon sun while the soft light is shining through the tall old trees.

The rich season has started. Everywhere you can spot mothers with their newborn children, they will help them to explore the nature, its grace and dangers, and they will be so happy to be alive, and they will jump and run and play with the soft summers breeze.

The air will be full of the soothing scent of pine trees and lavender and at night, when the bright moon is shining down upon this scene, you will hear crickets and frogs, taking over the hard work of the birds, to entertain the forest and create a calm ambience.

In autumn the animals of the forest will start to prepare them for a long cold winter.

The babies are not babies any longer. They will help their parents to stay alive.

In the nights the wind is getting colder, it blows the orange leaves from the three old oaks, and the sun will help to make the sky look like melted honey.

In autumn everything starts to become quite again, the river isn't singing anymore, it's whispering, and tells the plants around „Close your eyes, get ready, sink into your slumber. The winter will allow us to rest." As it says so, the trees are letting the wind steal their colourful dresses, the flowers would bow their little heads and the animals are going to lay down in their caves to rest.

And in winter, the sounds are gone. With the first snowflake, the whispering of the river stops, as he is the last to get some rest after telling everyone its time.

And as the snow falls and falls, the thick layer is absorbing any sound.

Though the river is asleep, the ice, this cold blanket, continues his song, a little lullaby, to keep everything asleep.

In the little cottage, the fireplace is crackling, as the two women living inside it are sitting beside the fire. They are both sitting in quite, one is reading a book, the words filling up her mind to form new sentences, she wraps herself in them, built a blanket out of them to rearrange them after her will and create a new world of rhymes and syllables.

The other one is holding a dress. It isn't quite finished as the needle dips in and out the fabric which is pooling in her lap already.

The fireplace is crackling and a snowstorm is howling outside of the window.

Steam is rising from two teacups placed in between them. The thick scent from the herbs is filling the air, infusing it with its calmness.

The fireplace is crackling, the snowstorm is howling and the pages of the books are turning.

Outside the window is nothing to be seen, the sun already disappeared a while ago and took every life with it.

The needle disappears in the brown fabric, the shows itself again. A silver spark of hope glistening in the dancing light.

The last stitch is made, the work is finished. The yarn is snapped by a golden pair of scissors and put aside.

She takes a sip from the tea and watches the other one in front of her.

Who is still sunken in the book, not noticing anything happening around her.

„Hey.", The first girl whispers, „It's finished". No reaction „Roselle" she repeats herself in a soft tone. The girl just dressed looks up. „Yes?" She asks confused which leads Cecile, the other, to chuckle. „I finished the dress silly. It's impressing how you lose yourself in the pages." Roselle only rolls her eyes but returns a smile. „And that's so important to rip me from my beloved lines?" The blonde mocks with a dramatic undertone.

„Well, my dearest, I wouldn't have taken your attention for no reason. I have a request." The ginger responses in the same manner. She points towards the fire, which has gotten a lot smaller in the last minutes. „I beg you to get some wood to feed the fire unless it's in your intention to get us both to freeze inside a house, which, I might add, would be terribly dumb."

The blonde smiles again, then she rises whilst cracking her fingers and stretching her cold arms.

„Indeed, that would be very dumb, but I ought to remind you, my dear cècile, that the next time you disturb my reading for such a simple task, I will not be responsible for any consequences."

The woollen material if her dress shuffles as starts to walk out. As she's passing the sofa with the old pillows, all the plants that are staying inside for the winter and all the shelves filled with books of any kind. The soft carpet absorbing her steps and the wooden walls reflecting the heat.

The days are often spent like this. The two mocking each other in a friendly manner. Sharing tasks around the house.

The spring was filled with garden work, planting new flowers and vegetables, pulling out the plants that haven't survived the winter, and on rainy evenings they would dance around the garden while they were laughing until they were soaked. And then they would warm themselves up inside because the air would get really chilly in the late hours.

In the summer the evenings will be spent in the garden, roselle on the big swing in their cherry tree, reading the poems she wrote and enthusiastically searching for new inspiration. Dangling her bare feet in the air and adding much drama in the pronunciation of her lines.

The bees would be flying through the air, from rose to rose in the bushes that are framing the cottage. And Cecile would laugh and sketch new dresses whilst she is sitting in the grass, a bowl of cherries and berries from the garden in between them, painting their lips and cheeks a blushing color.

And the smell of baked goods would surround them and of the grass, that was heated by the sun.

While they listen to the crickets and frogs from the river.

In autumn they would harvest all the fruit they planted in the spring. And Cècile would spend hours in the kitchen to prepare the food for winter and walk around the forest to collect mushrooms and breathe the crisp air.

It was never boring, never anger filled the air, or hate or regret as they did what they were always doing and the river would sing his song.