The Wind Knocked

THE wind knocked on the door. Hesitantly. Wanting to be let in. It had heard the murmuring of the flames. And knew that there was a fire. The wind sought shelter.

- Naveen Kishore

I

It had been a hard winter. And she had come a long way. Not one to force her way in. Being. On the whole. A courteous sort. She waited. Shuffling. On cold bare feet. Shifting. From one to the other. Blowing. Into her hands. In an effort to keep them warm. Rubbing them. Hopping. Up and down. To keep her limbs from freezing. The wind had not known such cold.

The little girl sitting by the fireplace heard the knocking. She looked up from the book she was reading. Put it aside. Moving closer to the fire. A small shiver ran through her. What if it was the big bad wolf knocking at the door? She had to protect her grandmother. She got up and went over to the coffin. In which she lay. Her grandmother. Having died. At the hands of the big bad wolf. A few days ago.

Meanwhile, the wind took a long breath. Sighed deeply. And turned into frost.

The little girl sat by her dead grandmother and another shiver ran through her small frame. The knocking had stopped. Replaced by the sound of the wailing wind.  

The winter came to mourn the loss of her grandmother’s death. Thought the little girl. She opened the door. And walked straight into the arms of the waiting wolf.

II