CuppaGemma

It was spring. Some things would end and others begin. Snow sprinkled the morning like confetti for a new year. And the night before the fire had crackled with the warm purr of embers nestling embers. The light of the night, the light of the stars, the light in their eyes held a little harmony till the sun tumbled out the wet happy flurries in the morning. Because all beginnings start with darkness.

The emptiness as large as Ontario was gone- the hollow that had weighed down the air and filled it with immobile grey had lifted as though the sea were rollers and delivered it away. Even the quiet seemed to have a contented little rhythm. Such as never.