She heard the whistle of the blizzardy wind, and felt a chill.
It was the attic window again. Nothing she did would keep it shut.
In the spring, softly-scented apple blossom breezes flowed through the house. Sound of rain, gentle or lashing, nourishing the earth.
Summer brought prismatic dragon-flies; hint of meadows full of wildflowers. Cracking, zapping lightening electrifying the still air.
Autumn was pulsing with whirls of colour; apple-crisp air dusted with frost. Giggles of children in costume; crunch-kicking through piles of leaves.
Now winter, blustery suffusing of white. Inburst of icy breath. Flowering ice crystals.
Wrapping her unraveling sweater, tighter around her thin frame, thick socked feet shoved into scuffed slippers, she creaked her ancient, grooved wooden table to the other side of the kitchen. Balancing on a chair, she flipped two butterfly clips on the ceiling hatch, then unfolded the ladder, giving her access to the attic.
She pulled the string, bringing a naked light bulb to life. It swayed gently, sending an unsteady glow across the attic. Negotiating boxes, a disassembled bicycle, rusty curtain rods, bins of clothes and minutiae, she clambered towards the open window.
Her breath came in frosted puffs as she slammed the wayward window shut. Within a sliver of time, the window would open again.
A ritual, now, her climbing the narrow staircase, maneuvering through the detritus of life, closing the window.
She didn’t fear this ghostly presence bringing in reminders of the world outside. Benevolent, making her rise from bed, no matter how deep the pain, how close to the edge of the abyss she tottered. Made her look out her dusty kitchen window, pull open screechy front door and step onto the missing-floor-boarded porch.
She closed the window, her life. He reopened both. Once in life, now in death.
A thesaurusical musing on mlmm tale weaver 199: open or shut:
“This week consider the proposition that we are all at times subject to be open or shut.
What does this mean to you?
What are you open to and what are you shut to?
Some people are open to most things and some are very closed, or shut to anything that challenges their every day.”
image: saltlakecityfirms.info
Lorraine's frilly freudian slip 
December 2, 2018 at 6:17 pm
Oh this was such an amazing interpretation of the prompt – and for the most exquisite and excellent way you’ve written this, it becomes a complete stand-alone piece – something easily submittable for short-story competitions etc. Brava!
It’s electric for the wording. Simple. Subtle but wholly complex, and layered. It’s sensitive, intimate and yet has an incredible “warmth” – i.e. makes it something that explores universal conditions and aspects of life and humanness.
I was literally swept right into the story and savoured all of it.
Impeccable! (said in French ;) )
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December 5, 2018 at 9:24 pm
Thanks for your encouraging comments. I wasn’t sure I’d post it — it was a writing exercise — using the thesaurus to expand my wordage. Learning new ones, and remembering old.
When I was finished, I thought “what the hey” and posted.
Hope you have a warm mug in your hands as you read this, and snow diamonds and ice flowers on your window panes prism a rainbow.
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December 6, 2018 at 4:49 pm
sometimes the simplest of exercises, as you’ve mentioned noted, can yield the best and often most surprising of results? ;)
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December 2, 2018 at 3:53 pm
Beautifully written Loraine. Such wonderful description and you can feel how cold she is. How she feels alone now that he’s gone, but yet I think there is an allusion to his harm, that he didn’t provide enough or hurt her. That I’m death, he still causes her problems as the attic window which never remains such. Very good and such a literary feel to it.
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December 5, 2018 at 9:21 pm
Thanks for your kind comment.
I’m glad I was able to convey emotions and settings!
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December 2, 2018 at 11:13 am
That was fascinating Lorraine you took me with you into an imagination that was both exciting and touched with sadness. Thanks for sharing.
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December 5, 2018 at 9:20 pm
Thanks for your comment!
Another good prompt. There are many in my “unfinished” file; maybe someday I will find the words to finish them.
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December 2, 2018 at 11:11 am
“She didn’t fear this ghostly presence bringing in reminders of the world outside. Benevolent, making her rise from bed, no matter how deep the pain, how close to the edge of the abyss she tottered.”
This is my favorite part. I think everyone should have something that acts a friendly reminder of the outside word, no matter how deep we are buried in our small, private cave.
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December 5, 2018 at 9:19 pm
Thanks for visiting and commenting.
I agree — I often feel like “hibernating” or viewing the world out my kitchen window. A tug at my sleeve, or a push towards the front door is sometimes needed.
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