Nostalgic Kanis
It was coming down pretty hard out there, huge flurries swirling and amassing into piles surrounding the cabin. A cold, pale blanket on the world; weighing down the trees and contrasting the dark night sky as it made its silent descent.
She pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders, an unconscious reaction to the thought of the frigid night, and played mindlessly with the soft, velvety ear of her dog."You wouldn't want to be out there either would you girl?" she smiled down at her good-natured and bright-eyed friend, who responded to the attention with slow sweeps of the tail and a lolling tongue.
It had always amazed her, knowing that out there in the cold, under the blanket, living things thrived. Hardy, adapted; they survived in a beautiful but harsh winter world, a feat too remarkable to ignore.
"Not me" shaking her head with a small smile "I'd be toast, or a snowman!"Her dogs ears perked at her soft laughter; it was usually a sign of good things to come. She smiled once more out the window, marveling at the amazing world she was so lucky to live in, before wandering back towards the couch.
The fire sparked as she tossed another log in; filling the room with sleepy warmth and a soft, almost magical golden glow.She settled back against the plush pillow that cushioned the armrest of the couch and pulled the thick quilt over her legs, cozy and snug beneath its weight like the small animals sleeping deep beneath the snow. As she picked up her dog-eared novel, eager to return to the unfolding drama of a far-away world full of wyverns and magic, she patted the cushions beside her; a familiar invitation, if not request, to her dearly beloved dog. Not one to decline, her pup hopped up with grace and circled twice before settling into a loose ball beside her.
And there she stayed well into the night; contentedness defined by a warm fire, a captivating tale, and beloved companionship; cozy and safe while the beautiful and dangerous cold glistened under a midnight sky outside her cabin.
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The birds chirped and sang their springtime songs outside the windows, a layered melody as soft as the white light of the morning sun that eased through those windows and bathed the room in a gentle glow. She lay propped up by a stack of pillows and plushes. Her familiar activity pile of laptop, puzzle books, and cell phone lay beside her on the bed, knocked sideways during the earlier arrival of her kitten, who had taken up his familiar perch on her chest and now vibrated with contented purring.
She held her book to the side of him - a story of romance and hope, of inner strength and the power of will - and paused in her reading to give room for thought. It had been a rough few months, a season of loss and grief and overwhelm. It was easy to fall into the darkness of it, to let it sweep her over and down like roaring angry waves.
But if there was one thing these beloved stories taught her, it was that there was light - like the white glow that gentled her bedroom with its soft touch or like the saving rays of sun that reached under the waves and beckoned you back to the surface after you had been sent tumbling and rolling into the course sandy seabed.
Light at the end. Light that held you aloft. Light that illuminated a path towards the turning of days back to good.
She shifted slightly - not too much as to disturb the contented kitten - and raised the book back for continued reading.
Yes, if her stories gave her anything, it was the promise of returning light.
And where there was light, there was hope.
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The rain beat a steady rhythm against the windows, a blanket of white noise heavy and calming. The room was dim now; the thick, dark gray embankment of the summer storm had rolled in and settled overhead, thoroughly blocking out the morning’s bright white sunlight. Her eyes had adjusted as she sipped her still steaming tea, and the soft glow from the large picture window beside which she sat was now enough for her to clearly read the words on the page.
The oversized sage green chair she rested in was still plush despite being worn and well-loved, and she sank into the slight indentations – now permanent from years of mornings such as this – with a special joy.
This chair was more than a chair. It was a time capsule, a weave of memories; it had been through three apartments and two houses with her during the constantly changing and unpredictable college years. It was a dear friend who had loved and been loved by many; it had been slept in, scuffed up, and chewed on by more dogs, cats, and rabbits than most people would share their home within a lifetime – some now deeply missed and longed for, some still drooling on it to this day. It was an anchor that held her to her story – stopped her at times from being swept away by the “too big” of it all. She had sobbed in its embrace during some of the darkest days, spilled coffee on herself (and it) while feverously writing revelations during meditations and devotionals, and found peace in the comfort of its familiarity through times where she felt absolutely lost otherwise.
This chair was a safe haven in which she could drift away from the “too much” of the world and dream, could find respite from the onslaught of being, and could fill her heart with inspiration in the stories of heroes who faced their own dark beasts and conquered not through unachievable strength, but through determined spirit and reckless hope.
The rain beat a steady rhythm on the window, a soothing and familiar lullaby. The thick gray storm clouds rested atop her world like a blanket, not smothering but keeping safe, tucking her beneath them. The bright white morning sun was softened as it filtered through them, casting a gentle glow through the large picture window and across the page.
She nestled down into a sage green chair that was so much more than just a chair, finding a sense of safety in its embrace, and sunk freely into the words of a familiar and treasured story that renewed her hope yet again.
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She stepped out of the car into the crisp Autumn air. Something about this time of year, some feeling in the breeze, always made her painfully nostalgic. It reminded her of childhood, of running around outdoors for hours with her friends, climbing trees, rolling in the grass - freedom, unburdened by the weight of adulthood and the awareness that comes with it. There was something about it that held the promise of goodness, heralding in the season of holidays and joy and reminding her of the next chapters that were yet to unfold.
She was always extra into reading during this season. Perhaps it was the comfort she found in the escapism of stories that allowed her to flee the burden of adulthood for a brief while, or the encouragement she found when protagonists overcame their own internal and external challenges, or the gentleness and simple joy she found in tales of friendship and love. It was, indeed, all three and then some.
She snugged her worn, kitted cardigan around her shoulders and strolled across the busy parking lot, a smile on her face as she took in how many people had begun to frequent the little used bookstore. The familiar jingle of the bell above the door welcomed her as the warmth instantly wrapped her and the smell of used books enveloped her senses. One of her favorite smells, something safe and kind and full of promise.
Walking slowly as to begin scanning the front shelves, she crossed the first seating area - full of mismatched over-sized recliners and love seats - and passed the small collection of dining tables to reach the cafe counter. It was a small setup with stickers and pins from local artists displayed for sale on the counter, a chalkboard menu (she knew exactly what she was going to order) raised on the wall behind, and a smiling barista in a faded tee ready to greet her.
"A large, hot, dirty chai please." after genuine pleasantries were exchanged.
Wrinkled bills exchanged hands and she strolled to the end of the counter, hungrily scanning the shelves from a distance as she waited for her tea. She knew exactly where she was going - first the mysteries then the nature section - and exactly what she hoped to find.
But that was the thing about these magical little shops, you never knew what treasures awaited you on their rows of shelves or what adventures, lessons, and joys awaited you inside those treasures.
The barista handed her the recycled paperboard to-go cup - an instant heat warming her still chilly hands - and with a thank you and a smile she disappeared into the maze, ready for her next adventure.
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Story by me
FauneProfile by me
Faune using the guidance of 
Hongske's CSS CompendiumNostalgic Kanis by
Rah, 400x400 found thanks to Paula's pet HelosiaBackground Image by Jonas Jaeken on Unsplash
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