The Life of a Snowflake
“Hello,” she exclaimed, half leaning out of the upper window, “Why are you here? What does this mean?”
He did not mind this unwelcoming welcome, in fact, he was so far from surprised by it his only expectation had been for a far worse one. He waved, slightly, his straight smile fulfilling its usual role. Unsummoned by him it did, regretably, always seem to provide a non-committal entry, at least.
“I suppose I ought to offer you a cuppa,”, Laura coldly offered, before adding, icily, “although truly I should turf you out.”
“Thank you, a tea would be lovely. Lovely indeed.” His conciliatory air was quite natural. “It truly is a wonderful situation you have here. I have often longed for a nearby river in a home, better still, a stream running through your lawn. It is quite, quite enchanting.” Genuine, all this. “Yes. You really ought to turf me out. Actually, I really ought to not be here, putting you in this situation. I would truly like to apologise, but what would it mean? I would still be here.”
Laura reflected now, and later, on this honesty. He was an honest person, that had never been a question. Yes, she mused, and a good one. It is just. Well, it really is not on, is it, what he did. What he does.
He warmly complemented the tea. It really was delicious. He took a deep breath.
“Is she here?”
Laura’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, yet he perceived it, just. No, she thought, my sister is not here, and if I am correct then he really ought to know that.
She sighed. ‘What now?’ eased its slow progress through her mind. The water continued its slow journey through the garden, along the stream.
Today I wrote between 20:01 and 20:11. I was prompted by an idea here.
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