‘Lost soles’ and ‘I’d rather have a cup of tea’
(Cheated here and conflated two prompts, to catch up. Enjoy!)
If it hadn’t been snowing I wouldn’t have noticed. Ahead of me on the path, a woman walking. She wore a hooded cape which fell to her calves, and heavy boots.
Sensible attire for the weather and I wished, again, that capes would return to fashion. Perhaps this person never gave up wearing them, because the bent of her and her dependence on a tall wooden staff for steadiness suggested she was well past middle age. I increased my pace, intrigued to see her face, to maybe indulge in a chat about times past and practical fashions.
That was when I noticed. There were no footprints in the pristine snow. I glanced down. My own boots left deep, patterned marks. I glanced ahead to where the woman paced steadily forward. Nothing but a smooth blanket of blue-tinged white between us.
Now I hesitated. A ghost? She looked so solid, white flakes settling on her hood and shoulders.
I shrugged, and hurried forward as best I could in the mounting snow. As I drew alongside her, I called a cheery, ‘Good morning, lovely day for a walk.’ I laughed.
She walked on, casting me a sideways glance. Bright black eyes peered at me from a face brown and lined as a walnut shell. No smile.
‘If you say so.’ Her voice was as cool as the weather and more ancient than the hills around us.
‘Are you okay?’ Was she in pain?
‘No,’ came the abrupt answer. ‘I’d rather be at home having a cup of tea, but–’ she glared at me ’–lost soles. You try walking in the snow with no soles.’
‘Lost souls?’
She sighed, heavily. ‘No, dear.’ She tapped the bottom of her boot with her stick, tottering awkwardly without its support. ‘Soles.’
‘Oh. Soles.’ I blinked. Had she escaped from somewhere?
‘The fairies think it funny.’ Her old voice was bitter. ‘They steal them in the night and hide them among the trees.’ She waved her stick at the surrounding winter-bare oaks and beeches. ‘Forcing me to go searching for them.’
‘Perhaps I could help,’ I offered, thinking to keep her company until someone found her and took her home, wherever home was.
She straightened, brightened. ‘Thank you.’ Frowning into the woods, she raised her voice. ‘That will teach you, wicked fairies. I have a human now, and we’ll find my soles pretty quickly. Ha!’
I was about to say something soothingly appropriate, like ‘Let’s get you home. Do you know where you live?’ when the hairs on my arms rose –
Giggling sounded from the snow-laden dead bracken, together with a rapid fluttering, like trapped moths.
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“Gin and tonic,” my wife inquired. It was that time of the evening when we would normally pause for our usual alcoholic beverage before organising dinner.
“No thanks,” I replied. “I’d rather have a cup of tea.”
She looked at me quizzically. “Not like you,” she said. “You usually can’t wait. Something the matter?”
“Not really,” I responded. “Just don’t feel like it tonight.”
I moved over to the kitchen bench to put on the kettle, not really wanting to elaborate and my wife didn’t pursue the matter further.
Truth was, I was feeling rather low since our dog had died earlier in the week and was missing him more than I cared to admit.
His name was Snoop – a golden Labrador – and he had been part of our lives for the past 13 years until, so crippled and in pain from arthritis, we had taken him to the vet to put him out of his misery.
Over the years, I have discovered it is never easy when a pet dies, or making the decision to end their lives if they can’t be saved – be it cats, dogs, birds, fish, tortoises. You name it and we have owned them.
However, ending Snoop’s life had struck particularly hard. He was great company, highly intelligent and loved chasing a ball and bringing it back to drop at your feet – in fact, I think that was all he really cared about.
Once he could no longer do that, could barely walk and would sit outside the family room window whining in obvious pain despite taking medication to try and relieve it, we knew there was no other course available.
Doing the humanitarian thing, though, didn’t make it any easier.
I could have been gazing into my cups, thinking that a few alcoholic drinks might ease the pain.
Instead, I sat gazing into a hot cup of tea, watching the steam rise slowly from the surface and wondering how long before the pain of loss would ease.
Oh yes, we all know this feeling.
Maybe they were fairy soles (souls??) which is why they left no footprints LOL
Quite possibly …