The Beggarwoman of Locarno

This morning, as with all mornings, I took She Who Must Bark At The Most Inconvenient Times on an early morning walk, which, given the several feet of snow on the ground (read: a few inches), was less an “early morning walk” than a “mighty difficult time staying afoot for the bipedal member of the walking party, as the bipedal-squared one trounced happily and darted into snowbanks and tried her best to cause the amputation of the fingers on my icicly leash-bearing hand.” And as I was trying both to preserve all my fingers and my stance (literally), it hit me that really, I ought to buy a sleigh and let the beast walk me for a change. And then, immediately following this thought, it hit me with horror: snow. Sleighride fantasies. Fresh fingersnaps. It’s holiday time.

And then I shuddered with enough ferocity to send beads of ice crystalled cold sweat from my brow and thought: I know what I need to get me in the holiday spirit– a glass of warm milk, a stocking by the fireplace, and just a little Teutonic Gothic Horror.

2 thoughts on “The Beggarwoman of Locarno”

  1. It’s snowing lightly here in Canada. Like small memories I gazed up at each snowflake while sitting by the fireplace, with my Rio Carbon in my other hand. And while listening to Kleist, via yourself, I looked up from the orangy warm room and into the cold blue of the sky, and wondered if maybe where ever you resided, you could catch my feeling of thanks.

  2. I just stumbled upon your log yesterday and I enjoyed listening to this story last night, laying nice and warm in bed while snow putting a white blanket over Holland. Thank you for your bedtime story 😉

    I am your new fan 🙂

    thank you from the cold and snowy Netherlands

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