Outside the window a towering stand of fountain grass, brown and desiccated and paper-like, shudders and flails in the wind. A few strands are torn and blown high into the air. A light blue sky bereft of clouds stands behind it all. I make a cup of tea and ascend the small staircase to the attic room, where the heater has been running for a while. It is finally warm here, and this will be where I spend the day in cozy fashion. Surrounded by candles that flicker and glow, the light of the room is soft and the fragrance hints of the holidays – spices and pine trees and incense.
The feeling is at odds with the wind raging outside – a wind that rattles the roof, rumbling across the expanse above me. We lead such precarious lives – only a single roof between survival and demise – and it’s as dramatic and plain as it sounds. Cradling the cup of elderberry tea, warm in my hands, I sip and live to enter another night.
