Footprints in the Snow

Published January 28, 2012 by The Creative Outpost

Clad in her favorite jeans and sweatshirt, she made a mad dash, up the long steps to her new home. All her years working in the New York law firm had paid off. She took pride in being an attorney but her heart had always belonged to her art. She had recently been invited to show her paintings in a gallery, so she decided to it was time to retire from the firm and pursue her dream.  Once her decision was made everything else seemed to fall into place.

Six months prior she had been at one of her firm’s social functions. While watching the clock, waiting until the appropriate time to make her excuses, she overheard a client talking about a Victorian home he had for sale in Montana. The house needed some work, but the price was right. The owners were eager to sell. Within the month she had signed on the house, bought a truck and gave her notice at work.

Standing in her front door her eyes widened in pleasure. The interior was dark and musty as it had been closed up for a couple of years but the beauty and quality were unmistakable.  Exquisite furniture made of fine quality adorned the home like fine jewelry. As luck would have it, the couple could not bear to separate the furnishings from the home as each piece had been handpicked when the home was built, so it was all hers!

Spending the rest of the day cleaning she was wore out by midnight but the progress was unmistakable. She was already looking forward to painting the next day. The weather forecast had called for snow, and she could envision how amazing the rolling hills and cedar trees would look covered in a fresh layer of snow. As she settled into bed that night her forehead wrinkled up as she thought about being alone. At least she could visit with her handyman as he would be arriving tomorrow to start work. Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep was about the doggy door she had seen in the kitchen earlier that day, and adopting a furry friend to keep her company.

The next morning, hot steaming cup of coffee in hand, she padded her way to the front door. The scene that greeted her was nothing short of awe-inspiring. During the night the entire landscape had been transformed into a white wonderland. She couldn’t have painted a prettier picture. Stepping out onto the front porch, she was struck by the amounts of snow and its purity. It wasn’t at all like in New York City where the snow had been trampled and polluted. Not even a footstep had been imprinted upon it. She made her way back inside to her makeshift art studio and settled in to paint. As the day’s light began to fade she took stock of her work. Satisfied, she laid her paintbrush aside and headed upstairs to retire for the night.

At peace for the first time in years, she fell asleep quickly only to be abruptly awakened by noises coming from downstairs. Paralyzing fear gripped her as she eased out of bed. Frozen by indecision whether to hide or investigate, she opted to hide. Minutes felt like hours. Never had she been so scared. As she sat huddled in her closet, she vowed if she survived the night her handyman’s first task would be to check the locks on the doors and windows.

By morning her legs were cramped from her position where she had been hiding in the closet. She limped down the staircase as she heard a vehicle approaching. When she stepped onto the front porch she was struck by the fact that there were no footprints in the snow. If there had been an intruder their entry must have been through the kitchen door. As the handyman worked she bundled up and headed outside to look for evidence of an intruder. As she reached her kitchen door she saw footprints in the snow leading up to the doggy door. She opened the back door and there sitting on the floor was her night intruder, a cat!

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8 comments on “Footprints in the Snow

  • A jolly nice story that one.

    One question though: If it’s snowing why isn’t she cold? Nearly every woman I know constantly moans about the cold. And it’s a Victorian house so there wouldn’t be any radiators.

    Hold on… NONE OF THIS IS TRUE OMG

  • Ooh! I liked it! A little longer, which made me happy. 😉 AND a happy ending! Yay!

    I keep thinking I’m going to suck it up and actually start publicizing what I write, especially when I come here and see you doing it! You rock, Chris.

    I had to giggle at the comments, though, because as I was reading, I was imagining her in fuzzy pajamas and a big sweatshirt with two pairs of socks and big fuzzy slippers…also with her hands wrapped around her coffee mug because I knew her fingers would be cold, too.

    Isn’t it funny how my brain totally made excuses for her not complaining about the cold? Did I mention there were fireplaces in the house? 🙂

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