By Martin Falatic
Written 1993-12-17 (approx)
Revised 2010-08-04

The setting sun blazed beneath the heavy clouds like some distant explosion, its warmth unable to penetrate the icy winds howling around the house. The steel gray clouds were streaked with crimson, the colors subdued, yet sinister. They watched the sky turn to black, as the wind increased its furious barrage. What only minutes ago had been flurries quickly became great snowflakes, falling like a curtain over the night-scape. The storm had arrived.

The next two hours were spent preparing for what might be an extended vacation out in the middle of nowhere. They started a fire in the old, blackened hearth, to drive away the chill that had settled on the place. They watched through a window as the snow piled up in high drifts near the old shed. He held her close as the wind blew with an unearthly howl – threatening, mindless, yet somehow sensuous.

The fire had done its work, leaving the room toasty warm. Along with the oil lamps they had lit, it gave the room a ruddy glow. She snuggled closer to him, under the warm, heavy quilt, and as their naked bodies touched, another fire began to burn: passions fueled by the storm – a raw, primal thing in itself – and the love they shared, deep within their hearts. Let the tempest whirl around them, for together they are safe, and at peace.