as the branches sway in the soft winter air, snow falls with the last bit of leaves. covering the ground in its powdery haze, the flakes fall elegantly, slowly, as if dancing a waltz in the sky before gently laying out on the floor.

my boots crunch the snow as I make my way through the quiet day. no birds chirp to the gray skies. the only sound is the crunch of the snow and branches moving against the wind. 

the cottage looms in the distance, run down and breaking apart. I open the well worn out gate, closing it behind me. it will do nothing to keep anyone out. it doesn't lock anymore. but then again, not many travel this deep into the forest. not unless they seek something. 

I turn the handle, pushing the door open. another feature not truly keeping anyone out. though the door is a bit more secure than the gate, I never lock it anyway. 

the fire wood sits cold in the fireplace. I haven't lit the fire in years. the chimney probably has all sorts of blockage and I don't need the warmth. 

I settle my things down near the door, and search within me for something warm, something to keep the chill out of my bones. a whisper of a few words, an enchantment of warmth.

I settle into the plush brown chair. I listen for the snow, the wind, anything outside to remind me I am not alone in this forest. 

A bird caws somewhere near, the first I've heard since the winter began. 

it's not a fancy life. there's nothing here to shake things up or make things difficult. but its quiet here in the forest. so I stay here as long as I can, dreaming of the days when things were simple.