Day Dreaming

The snow fell lightly. The sky was steel grey. Deep green pines were icing laden with the heavy wet snow of a spring fall. Through the pine branches appeared the rising smoke of someone’s fire, a well-lit chimney offering home, welcome, a night’s rest, perhaps a meal and a stable for her weary horse.

Nevermind that she was propped up in her own comfy, 21st century bed, surrounded by pillows and warmth, gazing out of her front windows onto the pines that surrounded the condos across the street. Those facts had no impact on the imagination. She was making that wintery trek as surely as if she were a 13th century religiouse or a 17th century pioneer woman. The smoke spoke hope and home and fireside.

Rolling out of her modern comforts and facing a day of house cleaning after a week of company, she smiled in gratitude at the morning’s vision and a brain that could take her on such a journey with only a glimpse of smoke through the trees across the way.