It's snowing again, and it's so warm inside by the fire. Such a change. I have absolutely no desire to go outdoors and sit in the snow. I brought out my warm winter coat from the depths of the boxes in my cellar. I have avoided it for so long, always content to shiver in the cold. But the lining is so soft. I had forgotten how much I loved it.
In the frost on the windows, though, I see the sketchings of the stranger's face. He was so sweet, so gentle, even though I only saw him from afar. I still miss him, but I do not know why.
I will not venture to my snow-covered willow. I know he will not be there. Maybe in the spring. And there is still this key....
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Just A Painter Passing Through
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