The Mist Also Rises...

An Exercise in Description and Setting the Tone of the Thing to Which I Apply Myself...

Peeking through the screen door, three sets of eyes gaped out into the charcoal gray of morning.

 Four paws leaned up against the faded red carvings edging the screen.

Fresh, crisp air, smelling of rain rolled through into the house like waves in a gray, misty ocean of atmosphere.

The warm, golden glow from the kitchen seeped through the doorway into the library like a backlit honeycomb.

Shapes spoke softly inside the house, whispering to one another.

Shifting, the shadows beginning the new day were filling up the crevices, moving through every nook and cranny, chasing out the thick cloak of the evening and night.

No birds could be heard outside the house.

The barren trees surrounding the dwelling stretched upwards. Thick, corded trunks splitting into multiple armed branches tipped with spindly fingers, twisted in a pleading agony of frozen motion.

The trees held a memory of past pain.

A letter, delivered to the wrong person at the correct address, lay on a carved, footed table by the door. Its green envelope seemed to glint angrily in the beginnings of the morning light, as though it knew the folly of its outdated correspondence.

A small boy pressed his face further against the screen; his cheeks against the crisscrossed weave with his hands resting in his pockets.

The larger of the two enormous cats, standing on his hind legs and pressed up against the boy's left side, was head level with the child; as long as he was tall, like a small mountain lion leaning into the smells on the breeze. His golden head gently rubbed against the boy's ear, and a throaty purr began to fill the silence.

The other feline, dark tabby-striped with intense green eyes, dropped gracefully from the screen door and sat motionlessly, stick-straight on the boy's right. The top of his head came to the child's chin.

The boy was five years old, tall and wise for his age, though slender and handsome for a child so young. Having met him, one would assume he was perhaps a year or two older; his hazel-eyes betrayed an intelligence that some mistook for arrogance.

A soft, kind-hearted voice whispered to the child from within the depths of the house. A figure stood in the doorway of the kitchen and beckoned him, a hot cup of liquid held out.

With a sigh, he nudged the great golden cat down and fondly scratching his furry ears, the boy wondered how great a dog would be as a companion. The animal padded along beside the human, smiling to himself and half-knocking the boy over by frequently rubbing against his legs.

The huge tabby stayed at attention, facing the front door, almost part of the woodwork, his sinewy body lined up against the deep carvings.

As the boy crossed into the library toward the figure in the kitchen, he was suddenly and quickly scooped up mid-stride into the arms of a tall man who nuzzled him to his chest in a bear hug.

The two were obviously related.  Both had curly dark hair streaked with cinnamon lights, golden-green eyes that shone, and the same toned build: handsome and well-proportioned, if more slender than most men. Their bodies held a strength and flexibility that tied them together; one could not look at them but see resemblance.

A soft laugh escaped the lips of the woman standing in the kitchen holding the cup. Her eyes dark and twinkling, she beamed at them openly and grabbing her husband's arm, pulled the two into the light.

The child swung down expertly from his father's arms and wrapped his own around his mother's waist in a firm squeeze. Tousling the top of his head, she set the cup on an old, scarred kitchen table and rubbed his back.

Leaning casually against the counter, opposite the doorway, the man reached around for a mug and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from the pot warming by the stove.