40 mins 30 secs
The Sound of Winter.
Sharon didn’t much care for winter. It reminded her of the final months with David. Those months were too cold for her liking, but never quite cold enough for him. He would use this thick-skinned nature as a reason for many things.
The promise of a comforting, warming hand always seized her attention at the start of each Saturday morning. She’d briskly ready herself so that she could be ready at the door as soon as he was. She felt as if that would impress him somehow. It never did. They would walk out the front door with a quick peck by the sidewalk, but without a smile. She always wondered where his smile was.
They frequented the Winter Market on Main Street, often greeted by friends or welcoming shop owners. The calm murmur of the crowds carried gently along the rows of the market until they clanked against the bustling nature of the cafe on the corner, Cafe Canary. It was a friendly clank. David’s voice was low and bumpy. It would waver between a low powered vacuum and a bag of laundry dropped heavily on the floor. They passed the time with small talk, and mindlessly looked at crafts and wares. Sharon delighted in the smallest details on the smallest items. Miniature clay figures with tiny buckles on tiny top hats were so intricately crafted; she marveled each time she saw them. She never looked at normal sized things that closely. She would coo and gesture David to see each of her new discoveries. He would approach without interest and leave just the same.
As time crept by each Saturday, there was always a turn in the day. Somewhere along the east side of the market, between the soap store and old Mrs. Hart’s boutique, laid a stretch of tables and tents led by a few charming ladies near Sharon’s age. They sold locally grown jams and offered taste testing with little wooden tabs. People flocked for free tasting. Sharon never knew their names, but she would see them around sometimes. David always saw them at the winter market. Time after time, his gray, slightly stoic face would curl upwards and blink to attention when he wandered into view of their stand. He wasn’t fond for only the jam’s sweetness
His dry rumble of a voice would tighten up, but without becoming strained. Where it was a youth without application before, his voice now matured into a determined man, aspiring to hard work and eventual greatness. Nobody ever noticed this change in David, except for Sharon.
Winter may be a season stressed by cold and family-relations for many, but Sharon didn’t think of anything more than that growing, glowing, and disheartening brightness.
