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”
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.
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