Jillian. A short story I wrote. 1400 words.
A light snow was falling over the quiet countryside. Bare trees stood as darkened upended brooms on a white undulating carpet. Without noise, snowflakes fell in irregular patterns in the cold still air. The clouds, light yet dense, filtered the sunlight into a pale matte glow. A small road led away, bearing footprints: shadows in the snow.
The house was warm, and Jill enjoyed looking out the window to the falling snow outside. She remained standing for a while longer, coffee cup in hand, now sipping, now watching the cold snow. At last she turned and returned to the long pine table and her writing. She sat and set her cup down. She picked up her address book. Gently, delicately, she turned the pages, past the dry cleaner and the gardener. She stopped at W. His name was there: Warren Wilson.
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PS: I didn't post the whole story there. I don't yet know the etiquette on that. Also, it lost the line breaks on paste... What a pain!