the wind bit at her neck as she wrapped her shawl tighter. her toes were numb and she assumed wet, but she tried to erase the cold from her mind. she had a mile to go before she could sit in front of the fire with a cup of tea. snow fell lazily and the occasional street lamp cast shadows that jumped in the falling snow. there was an immense stillness in the evening. the familiar surroundings cloaked in snow seemed deformed and odd. her footsteps were silent but offered a rhythmic distraction from lines repeating in her mind..
Since young brides have hearts that can be persuaded easily, light things, palpitant to passion as am I,
the words had been all through her dreams the night before. and now as she made her way home in this dark night she began to feel warmth as the poem echoed. she had finished the book the night before. it was sitting on the side table next to her bed. she would finger the inscription when she got home. to feel the marks the pen had made on the page. but now in the darkness of this storm she repeated the line out loud.