When he first saw the cottage, it was sitting in the midst of a snowy landscape. There wasn’t much about it that was obviously special, unless you appreciated the small marks of craftsmanship and effort that had gone into its construction, and evidence of hand-hewn logs wasn’t obvious until the observer grew close.
Even then, in the midst of softly falling snow that had him hurrying for the door, Walter had a brushing thought flit through his mind. Surely, it had taken a great deal of effort to drag the logs to this mountaintop location, three hundred feet above the tree line.
Whoever had gone to such effort had clearly appreciated the view, which stretched across the entire range of snowy peaks before shading into the deeper lines of winter-dusted pines. The large picture window, perfectly positioned to capture the rising sun, and the cabin’s lone rocking chair were evidence of that.
And that same person, he quickly realized, was not a fan of cold, despite the locale; the fireplace and wood stove combined with a lack of drafts to warm the cabin quickly. Meanwhile, a heavy handmade rug and thick curtains gave the cabin’s owner the opportunity to block that same lovely view once darkness followed the snow.
It was a place, Walter came to understand, where every decision had been made with great care. A shelf at the perfect height, positioned next to the toaster, gave a resting spot for the all-necessary coffee while he loomed over the appliance impatiently. A knife to spread the butter was in the first drawer he’d tried, exactly the logical place.
The picture window turned out to be doubled-paned, and a knit wool blanket strapped to the bottom of the rocker, while the bedroom light was exactly the perfect shade of indoor glow to read before settling into sleep.
Outdoors, a clothesline at arm-height allowed him to reach the woodpile without getting lost despite a blinding blizzard, and a nook on the porch to tuck away a large stash without a pile of logs spilling onto the porch.
Despite his trepidation on the way up, he’d found that trees overreached parts of the winding drive, blocking most of the snow from the west. For plowing, an ATV with a small front attachment hid out of sight in a garage. That garage mimicked the cabin’s aesthetic – and was connected to the cabin via a closed tunnel, so a trip into town kept the chill away until absolutely necessary.
Yes, Walter thought with satisfaction as he watched the sunrise, it was the perfect cabin. He understood, now, the owner’s insistence that he spend a week here.
He’d never be able to love this bucolic vision quite as much as the owner who was reluctantly selling it, forced to move into town after a bad fall left him largely immobile.
But he though there might be room enough, perhaps, for a second rocking chair.
***
This week’s prompt was from AC Young, about the first glimpse of a cabin in the snow – and while I’m not sure where this story came from, exactly, I might revisit this world again. (It won’t be soon, though; I’m likely to be offline for a bit the next few weeks.)
My prompt went to Becky – what regrets might you have, if you’re the last one to do something before it all goes wrong? Check it out – and more! – over at MOTE v2.025.
