Snowed-in by Choice

Snow danced in the wind outside the frosted windows of her small chalet. This was a cold wind, sharp as a slap and just as shocking against bare skin. It caught the small snowflakes and swirled them into heavy drifts against her chalet’s walls.

She watched the snow dance and swirl from snug inside her chalet, tucked close to a crackling fire. This was a real fire, wooden logs piled high on the hearth to keep it fed and roaring. From her spot —a supremely good spot— she had a view out the window, along with the rest of the small room and down the hall.

Her chalet was always the first to snowed in when a storm approached. Something about the placement of the building and the wind patterns. The subject bored her so she wandered away or fell asleep when someone tried to explain.

She watched the wind rattle the trees around her chalet and fling free snow that had managed to cling to the branches. A few people —they must be guests of a nearby chalet— hurried back to their lodgings. They were foolish wandering out when a winter storm was so close. Their lack of caution could tempt the storm into flexing her muscles to remind them all her potential for destruction.

She thought them all fools. The guests, that is, who came to the mountain and to her chalet, to engage in their “winter sports.” She did not understand how anyone enjoyed hurtling down a mountain on thin pieces of wood. Especially in the biting cold.

But enjoy they did. And complain they did also, especially when the slopes closed ahead of the winter storm. The complainers didn’t seem to care that the slopes closed for their own safety. They had come to hurtle down the mountain and any alternative was subpar.

She yawned and stretched, shifting to toast a slightly different part of herself in the fire. She had ensconced herself in what was the chalet’s “reading room.” It was not as popular as the larger “media room” nearby. There the large screen T.V. reigned supreme as it belched forth entertainment for the masses. No, the reading room was quieter and cozier and suited her perfectly.

She turned from the window to survey the few guests nearby, sharing in the quiet room and warmth of the fireplace. They were a young couple with two children, one a baby asleep against its father’s shoulder. The couple talked in soft voices while an older child —in a painfully bright sweater— played on the floor. The family was part of a larger group, who she had seen streaming towards the T.V.’s amusements. But only after they made known their complaints about the weather in loud voices.

She didn’t understand the complaining. A storm was not unexpected this time of year. Encountering one was a risk that went hand-in-hand with these beloved “winter sports.” Plus, what were the employees, who bore the brunt of the complaints, supposed to do about an act of nature? Clearly there was nothing they could do. But if there was one thing she had learned in her chalet, it was that there were always guests who liked to complain.

She noticed then that she had caught the attention of the couple's older child. The child stared at her with large, solemn eyes. She stared back for a time, before redirecting her gaze back to the fire. She didn’t mind children, but she also didn’t encourage them.

The wind gained strength and threw itself against the windows, howling in rage at the obstacle. The trees rocked and shook in the winds fury as it directed its frustrations instead against their trunks. These trees had stood in their place for decades upon decades. They had withstood —without yielding ground— storms stronger than this one would become.

The howling wind reminded her of the year before when she had briefly been stuck outside. A storm had arisen faster than she had expected and caught her unawares. In her rush back to her chalet, she fell into a snowdrift. There she would have frozen and died mere feet from safety. But rescue came almost immediately. She shivered now at the memory of that cold and how long she had to sit in front of the fire before she felt warm again. She was too old now for such adventures. She had remained close to the chalet since then —when she did choose to venture out. Which was rare, especially if a storm approached. No reason to tempt fate.

She turned her head at a soft noise nearby. The child had approached her, still staring, and now with a finger in their mouth. They had stopped a few feet away to stare from a closer distance, cautious. She returned the child’s stare and waited to see what the child would do.

She had no idea how old the child was, except that it was older than the baby sibling nearby. Though herds of children moved in and out of her chalet, she never gained more knowledge about them. Except that she had learned which children to avoid. She was quick to vacate a room when one of those monsters approached.

But this child was quieter and calmer than the monster children. They crept closer until they leaned against the arm of her chair. Their wide eyes barely seemed to blink as they returned her stare. The finger stayed firmly planted in their mouth.

The wind gave a sharp howl and a harsh slap to the nearby window. The sudden noise startled the child, who pulled back a few inches from the chair. The child’s stare broke from hers as they turned back to look at their parents for reassurance. But the parents, engrossed in their quiet conversation, did not notice their child.

She reached out and gently patted the child’s hand, the one not in the child's mouth. She wanted to reassure the child, but also she wanted the child’s attention again. She could tell now that this child was not one of the grabby monsters.

Surprised the child turned back to her and their lips parted from their finger in a shy smile. They reached carefully towards her with their free hand, fingers outstretched. She stretched forward to meet those fingers and the child stroked the soft fur between her ears.

“Be careful, Addison,” one of the parents called. “Be gentle with the kitty.”

The child’s fingers stayed gentle between her ears so she let out a loud rumbling purr in reward. A soft giggle escaped from the child, sneaking its way free from around the finger. She closed her eyes. Her purr rumbled deep in her chest and the child continued to pet her between her ears and along her fire toasted side.

Darkness fell outside the window as the snow fell and the wind raged. But inside her chalet all was as she liked it. Because in her experience, being snowed in was much better than being snowed out.