A snowy world lies beyond my window.
In my hands, I hold a book, a favorite from times long past.
The spice of herbs assault my senses as they dry, hanging near the fire
The wood walls made sweet smelling by the warmth
Blankets pile high upon my form, pillows supporting my head.
My fingers brush the glass of the window beside my nook –
It is cold.
The world that lies beyond is thick with winter.
The wind howls,
My fire continues to burn merrily in the hearth.
I sip hot cocoa,
Home made and rich.
The pages of my book crackle gently with age.
I feel loved, though I am alone.
Content, in my perfect place.
