The comforts of home

The perfect storm settled around us in layers. One by one. Until there was nothing but us. Each other. His hazel eyes. My sleepy smile. Two hearts, one whole.

The first layer was the delicate snowflakes floating down, sparkling. My call into the night air brought our calico friend trotting in through the back door. She twists and winds round my leaden legs. Her ginger and black and white fur crimped by moisture, whiskers twinkling as if festooned with fairy lights.

As she disappears to take up her station looking hopeful by an empty bowl, I linger for a moment at the cold, fresh threshold. I scan the barren winter scene. The gnarled naked branches of the apple tree. The hard earth packed into mud, a blank slate for the coming year's bounty. The lawn already a speckled white desert. Fronds of woody lavender gently waving with their bobbly white snow-mittens, a farewell to the stars as clouds swell across the sky.

The second layer is the snow drifts that greet us as we open the morning curtains. Thick swags lay around the windows. Two feet in wellies disappear in two feet of crystalline powder.

Go Back To Bed says the swirling, stinging wind. Any thought of shovels and roads are put to bed. But Wi-Fi and laptops prevent us heeding the call. Emails and video conferences don't care about the weather.

Like children we delight in a snow day, at home. Warm socks, warm jumpers, everything evocative of snuggling down. We share knowing smiles as we both love the excuse to enjoy the slower pace the season is enforcing. The perfect chance to say ‘no’ to the outside world and ‘yes’ to being with each other in our own little nest.

The next layer is the flickering lights. A frisson of excitement as thoughts leap to the stores of logs and candles. Then calm. An intriguing mix of relief tinged with disappointment, nostalgia for simpler times. The spreadsheet glows and grows. Suddenly, the gloom leaps inside! The storm has reached into our burrow and demanded we submit to the wild. The humming electric life of the house has fled in the face of nature's will.

Our next layers are literal layers as we pull on extra clothes. Ugly, lumpy, bulky, welcome clothes. We pile the logs into the living room stove. We accept confinement to one room for the duration, but are heartened by the enforced closeness. The storm's swaddling bands gently nudge us into where we should be.

For a moment we pause, hands interlinked, fingers entwined. Shoulder to shoulder as we watch the kindling catch, the flames blooming forth. As one we breath; a sigh, reflecting how wonderful yet sorrowful for the only temporary permission to linger so close to one another. How many days go by that we long for such moments.

We are saddened that laptop batteries and 4G remain, shackling us to the working day, to obligations. We look with trepidation and longing for the percentage bar to tick down as our own life energy ticks down with it. Only then can we let ourselves give in, claim there’s no more we can do. For now, we will each plod on in our own furrows. Separate bubbles of thought. Separate corners of the  world. Putting on our professional personas that buy into this disconnected way of processing the same existence.

The next layer is the dimming of screens. Mine goes first. We look up at the same moment- he felt my intake of breath, thrilled tensing of muscles. We both know what this means. I hit ‘send’ on one last message, telling colleagues the inevitable has arrived, the storm has demanded all of me. I rise from the table and carry out tasks to reinforce our space with warmth while I wait for him. At the electronic bleat of a failing battery I let out a giggle. I turn to look at him, his lips are giving away everything.

A last few clicks of a keyboard. The satisfying snap of a closing laptop. The sounds that herald the end of modernity's stifling grip, even just for now, replaced by a nestling down, an acceptance of inertia.

Darkness adds a further layer. We prepare scanty vittles as the sun's meagre presence wanes. Then we retreat back into the cushions by the glowing embers, delighting in the savoury simplicity of bread and of cheese. The burner gets its meal too, as we contemplate how long our log pile will last, fearing and dreaming of a long isolation together.

Synthetic illumination and every other false sound, motion, productivity is silenced. Books are picked up and discarded. The dancing fire mesmerises. The whooshing blizzard provides the richest yet gentlest, most genuine white noise that plastic and wires could never achieve.

There is nothing to do. There is everything to do. To feel. See. Touch. Smell. Just be.

Blankets are layered with each other's arms as we are drawn together at last. Thick fabrics cannot separate us; we are knit together in a pattern as old as the earth. Limbs coil around limbs. Cheeks plump together like rosy autumn peaches. A stomach grumbles- no scientist could ever discern to whom it belongs, they both belong to both.

The final layer, the final drawing together of two souls in a tempest, is a steady gaze. No words, not even awkward sniggers. It's a serious business, connecting. Diving into love after surviving on sips.

I think how long it is since I last truly, truly held his eyes like this. Most days are made up of scant sentences about bins and bills and other dull minutiae. We could go weeks without more than glances. When was the last time I was close and present enough to chart the whorls of green and brown in his irises?

As eyelids droop the layers loosen. In the morning the sun will beam golden across the bright winter scene. For now we enjoy the comfort of each other and the home we have built together. The layers are temporary. But we know where they are and will be back. They renewed their vow; they refreshed their mark; and we are grateful.