A Strauss Waltz and Other Ramblings On a Snowy Day
After a long restless night of tossing and turning, I finally fell into a deep slumber sometime just before the coming of dawn. As I drifted into a semi-wakefulness state, I heard the gentle sound of a Strauss waltz weaving about the room, wrapping me in delightful motion. I lay completely still. My eyes were closed and a smile lingered upon my lips. I imagined my younger supple self in Peter’s arms gracefully waltzing round and round. We seemed to be dancing upon a soft cloud floating up in the sky. Round and round we joyfully spun. We delighted to be once more dancing in each other’s arms. But all too soon the music gently drew to an end. My eyes fluttered open as I awoke.
Ebony is snuggled next to me, my sweet little black bundle of joy. She breathed softly in her sleep. I lift my head slightly to look towards the armchair. Picasso is not there. He is getting old and it has become an effort for him to climb up and down the stairs. He often sleeps on his pad in the kitchen. I rise from my warm bed and sit on the armchair. I lean my head back. I gaze out at the grey winter skies. Timid white flurries drift down uncertainly. They are predicting a major snow storm starting tonight. For the time being all is calm. The radio plays a Chopin nocturne. I relax as I listen and watch as flakes of snow continue to fall onto the frozen ground.
With a start I remember my poor outdoor cats, my Timalena and Jadey. I almost forgot to feed them! I hurry down, fill their bowl before the snow truly settles. I pour myself a mug of tea, and once more go up and settle in my armchair. Last night I chose the book, Midaq Alley, by Naguib Mahfouz, from my bookshelf to read once more. I love his works. Perhaps I will purchase more of his books. His words are timeless. I am enchanted with them. I am so fortunate to have all these beautiful books in my bookshelves.
I hear Peter’s voice sigh in exasperation inside my head, “Have you not heard of public libraries, Stella?”
“If I didn’t have my books during this pandemic, what would I have done, Peter?” I answer in self defense.
He has no answer. He shrugs his shoulders and quietly disappears back into my thoughts. I miss him.
As if the radio can read my mind, I hear it play,
“Quand tu dors près de moi
Tu murmuré parfois
Les amants oubliés que cette femme que tu aimes…”
Je suis la femme que tu aimes…
And the snow flurries continues to drift down upon the frozen ground… Once more I lean back, close my eyes and dream of how perfect our lives used to be, my Peter and me…