Ice Age

“Geez Louise my feet are cold,” Henry grumbled.

I threw the afghan over to him. “It’s this old house. I swear it has paper for insulation.”

“Paper! That’s what I need. Find last night’s paper. I’ll wrap my frostbitten toes in it, for pity sake. Or perhaps we can use it to start a fire right here. Take the insurance money and run.”

Henry was being a bit of a baby this year. I never remembered him whining so about the cold before. I just had to laugh.

“And what is so funny?”

“You! Paper around your feet, starting a fire in the living room. Henry, really, come on. It’s 62° in here. It’s not that cold. Chilly, but not freezing. What gives?”

My husband looked at me with those big brown eyes, all sad and sorrowful. “I think I’m coming down with a cold.”

“Ah, now that’s alright. Just snuggle down, you know this cold spell won’t last long. Soon it’ll be summer again.” I wrapped a scarf around his neck, got the heating pad under his feet.

“I don’t think so, I think the sun is broken,” Henry muttered as he fell asleep.

Henry never awoke. And he was right - the sun was broken.

The ice age is now in its fifth year. I moved to the cave behind the house a few months after Henry passed. The cave stays a steady 50° year round. I may have enough fuel for a few more months. But it will be summer again they say.



W/C 255