Willow Lake Press
by Glynn Sharpe © 2005

The Separation Shutting the front door quietly, he listened for any sign that she knew that he was finally home. There was no stirring, no voice from the upstairs bedroom beckoning him to come to her. She was asleep. He knew that. He wanted to be quiet for her. Shaking the snow from his jacket and boots, he made his way in to the darkened kitchen. His early evening drink could wait, he thought to himself, as he turned away and climbed the stairs to their third floor bedroom.

The Separation He paused outside the bedroom door, his head cocked slightly so that could hear better. Nothing. The door whispered as he drew it open. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom. He could see her bundled under the quilt, her hair matted to her forehead. He could hear the reassuring pattern of her breathing. Several prescription bottles stood guard and watched over her as she slept. He shut the door without a sound and made his way to the living room window.

The Separation Peering out, he looked upon an endless January. The snow, hard as steel, held the Earth fast in its merciless grip. There was no sign of spring, no early thaw this year. He scrapped his finger across the cold glass of the window. The frost there split and curled above his finger. No, there would be no break in the weather for some time. But what he was really trying to say to himself was that he missed her so much.

Photos by courtesy of lachlan.bluehaze.com.au
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