Photograph by Lisa Shambrook and Streamzoo (Please do not use without permission)
They knew it was coming, but they were so far out, so cut off, there was nothing to do but wait.
So they battened down the hatches, like the government had advised, and watched the crazy exodus on the television all cosied up on the sofa.
The storm was coming, coming from the north and they were the north.
The television signal vanished as the storm arrived. They glanced at each other, smiling nervously, and he took her hand in his, squeezed it, then urgently pulled her off the sofa and led her upstairs.
She gazed out of the window and smiled at the blanket of snow. The trees, silhouettes against the brooding skyline, barely moved and the world was silent except for the heavy patter of falling snow. She fell into his arms and his mouth hungrily devoured hers.
In the afterglow, his arm cradled her and his hand gently stroked her bare thigh as she lie with her back against his stomach and she sighed. The snow had stopped and the room lightened, a cold brightness filled the air and she clasped his hand in hers.
It was silent when it came.
They watched Jack Frost’s masterpiece overlay the window, outside and in, and they followed the frost as it bathed the walls. She watched it spread across the sheets and their entwined hands and she felt her toes disappear. Ice travelled up her body in exquisite contrast to the fiery heat enveloping her just a few minutes ago. Feathers of rime patterned her arms and her face grew tight as it froze. She felt his heart beat against her back and closed her eyes as the ice danced across her frigid eyelids, and moments later their heartbeats vanished as the storm quickly passed.
Day Seven: July - Storms
And there are more great stories to read...