Fiction: Snow Day

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Adapted (cropped) from an original photo by Giselle Vestergaard, via Flickr (license http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/)

Adapted (cropped) from an original photo by Giselle Vestergaard, via Flickr (license http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/)

 

The bells of St. Brigit’s are calling tonight, winging over the snow and alighting on my windowsill. All day I have been imprisoned by twenty inches of snow. Something inside me quivers for escape. Something bright, warm, effervescent–and utterly impossible. But real. When I woke this morning I was half an inch above my bed. All day I’ve tried to recapture the feel of that moment without success. The quivering had almost vanished. But the bells are a clarion call; I can feel it surging again. I stand utterly still and close my eyes, focusing inward. The bells reverberate in my head. And I rise, into freedom.

Written for Write On Edge

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