Mary's Farm: The Ice Storm
I think back to the afternoon I spent with two friends, an older couple who had chosen to stay in their house, even though their generator had failed. The house was chilled, into the 40s, but we sat together in their upstairs parlor, a cheery hearth fire the only source of heat.
A table of Christmas presents and wrap sat in the corner–no matter what, their grandchildren were getting their gifts! We pulled our chairs closer to the fire and threw logs on the flames. Ancestral portraits looked down on us from the walls, and the candlesticks stood ready to be lit as the afternoon waned.
Outside the window, snow sifted down, covering the tiresome glare of ice. We talked and told stories. We laughed. As darkness set in, I made my way home, past the fire station, where the men and women of our town were standing by. They waved. I fed the woodstoves, lit the lamps, and cranked up the radio one more time. When it was all over, it was this that I missed and would have loved to have back, all over again.
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