Photo prompt © Björn Rudberg
I walk into the room. Your cello in its usual place, as always when you’re not playing; leaned against its stand. The light from the hanging light bulbs outside makes me shift focus, and I walk the few steps to the window and peek out. It’s beautiful, the way the snow catches the light. The thick layer of snow on the roof tops, that was there just this morning, is almost gone though. Before they had time to shovel, it fell down in heavy lumps and you ignored the the warning sign.