Winter W/ Old Smokey
The wind whispered through the dark, empty trees. Winter was coming, and with winter came beauty and quiet, but also sleeplessness and discomfort. Every year I dreaded it. So, while Fall was my favorite season, it always felt tinged by what was coming next.
While my privileged friends with their wealthy families escaped the Winter in tropical places or stayed to enjoy their comfortable homes with electric or propane heaters, I was cold and tired and sometimes, very jealous.
I loved having my bed under the window, especially in the Winter, when the moon would shine off the snow — a beautiful, cold, blue light, so bright you could read by it.
But, when the snow would blow particularly hard, which was often out in the country in NM, my window would let a dusting of snow onto my bed. I’d put an extra blanket on and cover my face so that only the slightest bit of frigid air would get in for me to breathe, and I’d close my eyes and pretend that I was anywhere else.
We had a heater, of sorts — a wood-burning stove in the center of the house. It had a name — Old Smokey. Many nights, I awoke to a house full of smoke (on account of Old Smokey and the green, uncured wood that was all we could afford).
My Mom and I would open the doors and let the smoke out and the blowing cold in. And, some nights, it was bitterly, painfully cold. We’d go outside in our pajamas and slippers with no coat or gloves until we became numb. Then it would feel warm enough inside to go back to sleep.
