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Footprints in snow

No place like home

Her feet squeaked across the snow. Each step left an imprint in the frozen blanket, curved and indented like a maze. She pulled her coat tighter, head dipped so low the fur on her hood cupped her chin. Her breath came out as ghostly whorls. Above trees chattered, their bony fingers banging against each other like maracas. It smelt just the way she remembered, fresh and sweet with peat. She arrived at the gate, once a fir green; it was now coated in rusty patches that flaked when touched. She ran her fingers over the wooden ‘67’ nailed to the pillar. With a smile she pushed open the gate, its familiar screech, music to her ear muffed ears. The trees had gotten taller, glut with rings. A full moon hovered over the trees casting a shower of mirrors over the leaves. The house came into sight, windows aglow with amber light. Music floated, low sultry notes beneath a husky voice thick with poetry. Through the glass were her parents, snug in each other’s arms gently swaying. She could already taste cider ham and turkey, a generous glass of mulled wine on the side. She took the key from her pocket and turned. She was home.

Have a wonderful Christmas, wherever you may be!