Page 25 - San Diego Woman Magazine

FLASH FIC TION
FIRST SNOW ON JUNIPER LANE GRATITUDE LIKE

A short story inspired by Rose Hill A microfiction inspired by Heather THE FRAGRANCE
Designs by Heather Stillufsen Stillfusen's Rose Hill Designs.
By Shelley Burbank By Shelley Burbank OF WOODSMOKE
Ah, snow! Georgette, happy she’d Ellie hooked a finger around the candy
pulled her boots from the closet before cane bobbing in the whipped cream atop her By Shelley Burbank
heading into the village, admired the pat- hot chocolate. She drew it from the drink and
terns the first flakes drew against the ever- licked the pepperminty cream from the stick And there, in the stillness of late
green trees lining the lake’s rim. before sipping the steaming chocolate good- afternoon, the year winding down to-
A smell of sugar and cinnamon beck- ness beneath the foam. ward the solstice, dark already before
oned from the donut shop, so she ducked Watching the snowflakes falling outside dinner time, Sophie lit a fire of well-
in to grab a latte and a cruller to take the window, she shivered in her red wool dried oak.
home, tucking the pastry in her bag. coat. The furnace in her new house, just a She sipped Earl Gray tea from
Across the driveway at the boat land- tiny bungalow in a not-so-glamorous part of a homey little pottery mug, slightly
ing, Christmas trees leaned against make- town, had to be replaced as soon as possible. lopsided, a gift from her niece who’d
shift fencing. Christmas music tinkled She sipped again and thought of all the made it in her college art class. She
from a couple of speakers. Wandering work ahead. She'd strip and sand the old missed her parents, both gone now,
down the rows, she sniffed the spicy scent hardwood flower, pull layers of paper from and her brother and sister living in far-
of balsam, her heart lifting with nostalgia the walls, and apply fresh coats of paint. And away states. Her nieces and nephews
and joy. “Can I help you?” She smiled into the kitchen. She hugged herself in delight. were all off having adventures of their
the friendly eyes of the proprietor who Well, she'd just have to take it down to the own. She lived there alone, on the fam-
looked, in his plaid wool jacket and knit studs and start over from scratch, that's all. It ily homestead, caring for the house
cap, as if he might have gone out into the would take a while, but she could picture it all and her menagerie—dogs, cats, alpac-
woods to personally cut each tree on the in her mind, the cozy cottage of her dreams. as, sheep, chickens. They were good
lot. “I’d like a wreath,” she said. “If you have The house was hers. She'd planned and company, and so were the neighbors,
them.” worked and sacrificed and saved for years, and and she didn’t really mind the solitude.
Ten minutes later, she swung down now her dreams had come true. So, the house Gratitude rose like the steam from
the snowy sidewalk with a wreath over was a little cold inside. But, she'd wear her coat her mug. Like the sparks from the
one arm, a phone number in her pocket, if she had to, and decorate her tree with all the settling logs in the hearth. Like the
and a song in her heart. trimmings she'd saved over the years. fragrance of woodsmoke in the chilly
The fireplace worked, and she'd bought a November dusk.
bundle of wood at the store. Soon she'd have
a cheerful little fire dancing in the hearth and
Perry Como and Nat King Cole crooning her
favorite Christmas songs while the snow fell
softly outside.
She sighed and sipped, watching the
flakes. Her first Christmas in the cottage on
Juniper Lane. Magical.

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