An Old Drabble
It was raining again. Ever since the last bits of snow had melted, mother nature had seemingly decided to make up for the lack of white with inches and inches of water. It wasn’t that the rain was heavy. If had been there would have been flooding and that in itself is no joy at all. It was merely the fact that it was constant. It would rain for hours on end in a light shower, then thicken up to a down pour for an hour or so before going back to light sprinkle. The sheets of rain seemed to fall from the sky like lengths of sheer fabrics that shimmered and wavered in the dim light.
There hadn’t been any thunder or lightning yet, but the annoyingly sympathetic weather man had assured that there would be before tomorrow morning. Thankfully there hadn’t been any plants in the small vegetable and herb garden that about 10 to 15 feet from the house. There hadn’t been enough time in between the snow melting and the rain pouring to start planting the small sprouts and seeds that were scattered around the house in pots on window sills, the floor, and even on a few of the tables. They’d been carefully cultivated over the waning winter months with special plant food and trips to the expensive growing light that was hooked upstairs in an unused corner.
The rain wasn’t as much of an annoyance as it should have been or had been for most people that lived in the area. The sound of the droplets hitting the metal roof was a noise that was comforting and soothing in it’s constancy. It signaled that it was a day for the heaters to be turned up and thick socks to be worn. To curl up in a comfy seat with that thick book that has been begging for someone to read it and read it on such a day as this.
It was cozily warm in the wooden house, not so hot that tank top and shorts are an option but warm enough for anyone to feel blissfully lethargic and sleepy even when hyped up on a pot of coffee. On the stove in the kitchen that wasn’t old but wasn’t exactly new was a pot of thick, chunky, hearty stew. Made from leftover roast beef, there were big chunks of potato and carrot floating in a rich, meaty broth. The smell of it infiltrated the whole house, mingling with the lavender-vanilla of the dozens of candles that were burning and that freshly warm smell of laundry right out of the dryer, since it’s a perfect day to get caught up on indoor chores. There was also that rich and deep scent of fresh coffee that was brewing, since the only way to get anything done on a day like this is to have a ton of caffeine in the system.
There was steam still billowing out of the bathroom, testimony of the long bubble-bath that had taken place as a mandatory relaxation. There were more candles in the bathroom, none lit though. The smell of shampoo and bubble bath wafted out with the steam in a quickly evaporating cloud. Big, fluffy towels had been used, but they lay draped over the curtain rod so they would dry properly once the moisture had left the room.
A woman was curled up downstairs, her hair wrapped in a towel while she lounged in a soft bathrobe and thick while still being gentle socks. Both the robe and the socks were a light sage color and she wore nothing else. She’d pampered herself today with a long bubble bath, luxurious lotions, and the deliciously exciting indulgence of spending the majority of the day with almost not a stitch on. Now she curled up with a book that was so large she knew she’d probably never finish unless the days continued like this. After a bit, if she felt the urge, she might get up and get a bowl of stew and a cup of hot spiced cider.
She sworn to let herself relax today and was mostly there. Something, however, was missing and she just couldn’t place it...
There was the sound of a car pulling into the garage and a sudden bolt of knowledge hit her like one of the promised lighting strikes. She watched the front door as she heard the car door shut, footsteps up to the front door, and the door swung open.
After stepping in and quickly shutting the door, the man shook his head like a dog that had just figured out water was wet. She smiled at him, carefully marking her place before standing up. She unwrapped the towel around her head that had mostly been there to keep her still damp hair off her neck and walked over to the man who was now taking off his soaked jacket. She waited until he’d taken off his boots and any other article of clothing that was soaking to move towards him. As he stood in the hallway in his boxers and his undershirt she reached up with her towel to start drying his still dripping hair.
She gently wiped off his face after she’d removed the majority of the moisture from his hair. Smiling up at him, she stood on her tip toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips before turning and walking into the kitchen to dish up two servings of the stew. When he tried to follow her, she shooed him upstairs in a distinct motion that meant he was to get warmer clothing or else. The ‘or else’ was left specifically vague, which generally meant only one type of punishment and since he wasn’t truly fond of the couch, he headed upstairs.
When he came back downstairs in a hunter green robe he was treated to the sight of his woman curled up in the rocking chair that was always by the fireplace in the kitchen. She had a large mug cupped between her two smaller in comparison hands as she stared out the window, her eyes distant and a small though content smile on her face. Almost as if she was seeing the entire wondrous and awing creation of a world with endless promise within the drops of rain that seemed to be continuous in their fall from the sky. On the table were two bowls of stew, one obviously having a few bites missing, but steam still curling up from both of them in delicate little wisps.
Seeing her so distant and far away grabbed at him in a way that nothing else had. He didn’t want her to be however far away she was, he wanted her here with him so her could touch, hold, and love her like he’d promised. Before he’d even realized it, he’d crossed through the kitchen and was reaching her, touching her shoulders gently. She blinked slowly, then looked up at him, distant gaze gone to be replaced by a look of love and happiness. She smiled brightly and he was caught. He was unable to resist that smile and never really wanted to be able to resist it. When she smiled at him, the love and happiness that shined in her eyes whenever she looked at him daily would suddenly sparkle brilliantly and he could see the soul of the woman that he had promised himself to. And she had a beautiful soul.
As he leant down to kiss her he whispered with everything that he was and could ever feel words that had become their own quiet pledge to one another.
Ha’ane vythas sa’danai...
After pressing his lips to her lightly, he pulled back. As he listened to her response, he felt everything that had made the day almost unbearably monotonous and lonely slip away as she murmured back words with the same infliction and feeling.
Ane dae