The Cabin
We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The pictures hadn’t done it justice. The sloped roof was blanketed in white, long icicles dripping from the eaves catching the sun and glistening in the evening light. A long deck wrapped around it, strings of delicate lights strung along its railing. Surrounded by white-capped pines and mountains rising in steep peaks around us, we’d fallen into a comfortable silence in the last hour of our drive. As we got out of the car, the snow crunching underfoot, we both looked up at the cabin in awe - our home for the next few nights.
I looked over at my new wife. It’d begun to lightly snow and a few flakes drifted between us. When she looked at me, my heart stopped. Her smile was wide and open, her dark curls flecked with snow and her eyes lit with wonder. My hand reached out of its own accord, my fingers touching her warm cheek. She had closed her eyes and for a moment had leaned into my touch. I pressed my lips against her forehead, inhaling deeply. Pulling her into my side, we looked up at the cabin again, at the frosted scene around us.
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