CHILLY COOKIES

 

Lately, there have been no cookies on the outside of my house. There were no gumdrops, or peppermint wheels, or lovely little lemony candies or tarts or pies. No cake garnished the shutters, no pretzels or bonbons or Juicy Fruit gum. The waffle walk was covered in ice, and the frangipane fountain ceased to flow, frozen in its gush by the Two Degrees on the thermometer.

All the Tootsie Roll shrubs and the Fruit-Tarts bush were encased in gleaming ice, and the Candy-Dot screens were crusted on the doors. Lollipop portholes and glazed-sugar windows stuck, unwilling to open to the frosty air, and the poor birds had slender pickings on the chimney-bricks, for the brownies were shriveled and cold.

Our Jelly-Belly cobbles were color-blurred in ice, like mermaid-shimmer fathom-deep, and the Skittle-paved patio---slick as glass in the shade. The Oreo oriel was but a shade of its glory, and none of the M&M mullions gleamed in the sun. I dare not mention the Candy Cornices---even inside, they were icicle-toothed and scraggy, and the Dove-tails of the walls rimed with frost.

It’s been dark and blungy, and no one nibbled near.

For this house is an imaginary house, built on dreams and tellings and the great bluster of the teller, with happy times and thoughts of my Godmotherhood, my Grandma credentials, my try for Mary-Sunshine.

And now with a little tease-blast of Sun on Saturday, we’re back to dim and rain to come, with a promise of snow for Wednesday.
But just you wait. Spring’s here, if timid for now, and soon the shutters and the lintel and the roof will shine with fresh-baked goodness, and the doors will open wide, to waft the scent of warm cookies out into the yard.