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06/27/2021
Tofuwachtel
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Tofuwachtel
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Cold. Storm. Snow.
For hours she had been struggling through the icy wind, sinking again and again into the deep snow. The cold stung her face.
Again she had fallen, lying in a snowdrift. She didn't care. Sleep, just sleep some more. She closed her eyes, no longer heard the wind, no longer felt the cold.
When she came to, it was warm. Her camp was soft and thickly padded. Slowly her eyes opened. Had to get used to the dull light in the small hut.
Sitting by the fireplace, someone had their back to her.
She turned her head, looked around. Thick bunches of herbs and a smaller one of meadow flowers hung down from the ceiling balcony, their aromatic flowing spice permeating the entire room. The broad wooden beams of the walls gleamed softly in the glow of the small, dancing flames. Here and there drops of resin glistened on them like great golden tears.
Her eyes went back to the fire. Slowly, the man rose, turned to her. Tall he was, his broad silhouette standing out thick and dark against the glow of the light.
Carefully he repositioned a log, which began to burn, crackling and smoking slightly.
Thoughtfully took a large pot from the cooking rack and lifted the lid. A sweet familiar smell permeated the room, filling it. Melded almost a little creamy with the warm, soft, slightly aromatic spice and resin. United with the scent of wood and some smoke.
In three steps, he was beside her. Calmly placed his hand on her forehead. Not a word was spoken. She sank into his amber eyes.
There was a deep, inner feeling of security, peace and trust.
Again she had fallen, lying in a snowdrift. She didn't care. Sleep, just sleep some more. She closed her eyes, no longer heard the wind, no longer felt the cold.
When she came to, it was warm. Her camp was soft and thickly padded. Slowly her eyes opened. Had to get used to the dull light in the small hut.
Sitting by the fireplace, someone had their back to her.
She turned her head, looked around. Thick bunches of herbs and a smaller one of meadow flowers hung down from the ceiling balcony, their aromatic flowing spice permeating the entire room. The broad wooden beams of the walls gleamed softly in the glow of the small, dancing flames. Here and there drops of resin glistened on them like great golden tears.
Her eyes went back to the fire. Slowly, the man rose, turned to her. Tall he was, his broad silhouette standing out thick and dark against the glow of the light.
Carefully he repositioned a log, which began to burn, crackling and smoking slightly.
Thoughtfully took a large pot from the cooking rack and lifted the lid. A sweet familiar smell permeated the room, filling it. Melded almost a little creamy with the warm, soft, slightly aromatic spice and resin. United with the scent of wood and some smoke.
In three steps, he was beside her. Calmly placed his hand on her forehead. Not a word was spoken. She sank into his amber eyes.
There was a deep, inner feeling of security, peace and trust.
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