The cabin in the snow,
A winter journey.
One February morning,
Lucas boarded a train at Geneva heading for the Swiss Alps.
Inside the softly lit train car,
Lucas relaxed into his seat,
His scarf still wrapped around his neck,
And a woollen hat pulled low over his ears.
He smiled to himself,
Excited by the thought of reaching his cabin.
The train rumbled gently along the tracks,
Winding through quiet Swiss villages,
Passing elegant wooden chalet homes,
Their rooftops dusted in snow,
With smoke rising up from their chimneys.
He watched snowflakes drift past the frosted window of the train,
Each one a tiny piece of winter magic falling from the grey sky.
It had been a long year,
Filled with movement,
Noise and busyness,
But now,
Finally,
He was heading somewhere quiet,
Somewhere still and tranquil,
A beautiful old wooden cabin left to him by his late grandparents deep in the heart of the Alps,
Where the only schedule was the one set by the sun and the snow.
The train started to slow as it approached the remote station high in an alpine village.
Lucas stepped off the train,
His boots crunched in the snow,
The sound was so satisfying.
The air was crisp,
Biting but clean,
He felt instantly refreshed.
He took out his snowshoes from his bag,
He tightened the straps and began his trek into the forest.
Each step crunched softly,
He had forgotten how much he loved that sound and the comfort it gave him.
The forest welcomed him with an open silence,
A quiet so pure and still,
Time felt slower here.
After a while,
The cabin came into view,
It stood nestled among the trees,
Its roof blanketed in snow.
The interior was small but inviting,
Wooden beams ran across the ceiling and thick wool blankets were folded neatly on the bed,
But the heart of the cabin was the fireplace.
Lucas took off his coat and lit the fire,
Watching it catch and crackle to life.
He added some logs to the fire and the warmth soon filled the room.
Lucas took a pot from the shelf and filled it with water,
Placing it over the fire's edge to heat.
From a small pouch,
He took out some cocoa,
Inhaling its rich aroma before adding a couple of tablespoons to his mug.
The water in the pot began to gently bubble,
Meaning it was ready to pour,
The scent of The fresh cocoa mixed with the warm earthy smell of burning wood was intoxicating.
He sat on an armchair in front of the fire,
Cradling the mug in his hands.
The warmth seeped into his palms and he took a slow sip,
The flavour was sweet and comforting.
The fire crackled,
The wind whispered against the cabin walls.
Lucas felt so content and calm,
There was no sound of traffic,
No ping of messages,
Just the wind,
The fire and his thoughts,
Drifting like the snow outside.
He gazed into the flames,
Their colours flickering gold and orange and blue,
And he let his mind wander.
Memories floated up gently,
Childhood winters spent building forts in the snow,
Cups of cocoa by his grandmother's stove,
And the way the world seemed to pause in those quiet snowy moments.
The warmth of the fire,
And the peace of the forest,
All of it wrapped around him like a soft invisible blanket.
His eyes grew heavy,
The mug rested now beside him,
Nearly empty.
Lucas leaned back against a pillow near the hearth,
And the rhythmic sound of the crackling embers lulling him further into stillness.
Outside,
Snow continued to gently fall.
Inside,
Lucas let go of his last thoughts of the day,
Letting them melt away.
And there,
In the quiet heart of a snowy forest,
Under his blanket,
He drifted softly into a deep sleep.
