She was alone, in the dark, without warmth.
A Bleak WinterThe snow came down in rolling sheets as though someone was shaking the folds of a gigantic white carpet. It was so strong that it seemed to hit the ground in drifts. As the gust of wind increased, the visibility was reduced.
A woman traisped through the thick snow with bags of groceries in her hands. Just then, another bitter cold wind stung her skin. She tripped over hard ice and fell, scattering her items on the white ground. Swiftly, she scrambled to pick them up.
Another blustery, piercing wind blew. The woman got on her feet hurriedly and headed towards the direction of a wooden house — her home.
No one would want to stay outdoors in such weather.
The thirty-five year old shut the door quickly but yet, another gust of wind still managed to send an icy blast under the door and through the keyhole. It was a sign for her to not waste time. She had yet to milk the cows and feed the horses. A second gust roused her to action.
The farmer returned home just before sunset; freezing. In a few minutes, the stove would be roaring hot and she would be warm. At the thought that she would no longer be cold, her tautened nerves relaxed.
Hastily, the owner of the house took the box of matches from the shelf only to find it empty. She shivered nervously. Her hands were numb with cold. The occupant searched for another box of matches but her groping fingers found none even though she had moved her hand over every inch of the shelf.
"Of course!" she exclaimed, white puffs of vapour rose silently from .
She turned her wooden box upside down and lay out her groceries on the table. She could only see the blurred outline of them as it was getting dark. One by one, the woman picked them up. Her heart thumped with fear when she came to the last item. Her face blanched. There were no matches!
The spinster bit her lips in distress. In disbelief, her hands fumbled over the table once again. When she really found nothing, realisation crashed down hard on her. She was alone, in the dark, without warmth.
She sobbed,"It must've been the box of matches that I left out! Oh why didn't I stop to look again?"
The woman had searched every nook and cranny in the house by moving about in darkness but, it was to no avail. She tried desperately to think of some possible place she might have overlooked in her search for the odd match but nothing came to mind. Physically and mentally exhausted, the damsel plonked down on a chair with an overcoat draped around her shoulders. Soon, her head nodded and her eyelids grew heavy. She dozed off.
A howling wind blew and caused the wooden house to squeak. She jerked awake, her heart pulsating fast against her chest. She could have died!
The brief moment of respite had given her a clear mind and suddenly, she recalled. With an effort, she bounded for the door. With hands before her, the farmer attempted to feel for an old pair of blue denim overalls. When her fingertips touched the rough fabric, she her fingers into the single pocket.
The woman felt a little hard object. She picked at it with the nail of her index finger and it slipped easily into her palm. Clenching her stiff fingers into a fist, she brought back her arm. Slowly, she pried open her fingers.
"A match! A match!" she yelled then broke into a fit of laughter.
The elated adult rushed back into the house.With a drawn breath, she struck the match against the empty match box. She let the newspaper catch fire and swiftly threw it into the fire box. The fire roared up the chimney in a deafening crescendo and she shut the door of the fire box with a gasp of ecstacy.
Soon, she would be warm.
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