The room was long and thin with windows that covered three full sides. I guess it could be called a sun room although it was referred to as the den… on a winter’s afternoon the path of the sun thru the sky, brought its warming rays and all its glory to that room.
The bare trees that stood before the room would move to the winter wind and created and ever changing sun and shadow pattern in that room.
The boy stood mesmerized… his forehead pressed to the windowpane… to feel the cold against his skin… keeping his face against the glass, he turned slightly to breathe on the window and create a foggy patch, perfect for making a small design. Sort of like carving initials in a tree… but this monogram is fleeting. He watches the initials recede into the cold of the window.
He presses his face to the glass again, to see and hear the limbs bending to the will of the wind… a sharp gust now penetrates the thin pane… and the little boy can not resist tasting the cold, to make it more a part of him.
The cold may fascinate him; but it is the sun that keeps him in the room… that, and to await the sight of his Aunt Bella walking down the hill on Chapel St.
A cold winter’s day would not keep Aunt Bella from making her daily visit. It was something that you could count on… just as you could count on the sun moving thru the sky.