Frost: A Love Story

By Kristina Uyeda

The snow had been falling for days, burying the road and forests in thick, powdery drifts. Icicles hung from the gutters, sharp as the wind that shrieked down the fireplace and snuck through the gaps in the doors of the lonely cabin. It was lovely in its wildness. Silent, as only newly fallen snow can be. The only residence for kilometers, Keira had chosen this cabin for its remoteness. Using her savings from short-term lecturer positions, she had paid several months rent, packed up her research, and set herself up in the cabin with enough food and necessities to last in isolation until the snows receded in Spring. By then she would have finished writing her PhD dissertation, could finally give her supervisor the good news that she was ready to defend. The furnishings in the one-bedroom cabin were faded but cozy. It was lonely. It was, Keira reflected as she gazed out the large picture window in the main room, perfect.

She pursed her lips and blew the steam from her coffee, bringing it to her lips briefly before grimacing and returning it to her desk untasted, still too hot. Unwillingly, her eyes drifted from the desolate landscape to the laptop in front of her. She winced again, as the computer seemed to stare back, judging her lack of progress. It had been hard to be disappointed when the Wi-Fi signal, advertised as spotty, had been closer to non-existent. The inability to doom scroll through social media and the lack of well meaning inquires from her professor had seemed positive at first; an opportunity to work free of interruptions. Instead, the absence of distractions highlighted the lack of progress in glaring, neon light.  

Pushing away from the desk in irritation she strode purposefully to the door and began to dress for a walk. Snug toque, knitted scarf, parka, gloves, all the layers needed to fend off the frigid cold almost dissuaded her, but one glance at the stubborn laptop convinced her. Stomping into the clunky boots and pulling her hood up she stepped out of the cabin and into the snow, sinking into the fresh powder as the shock of arctic air hit her face. It was difficult to stride purposefully through thick snow drifts, so the nearby forest was her destination. Towering evergreens provided some shield from the persistent wind and the snow was less dense. Still, it was exhausting to push through, and Keira soon paused to lean against the rough bark of a tree, her breath hanging in the air in fluffy clouds.

It was impossible not to be honest with herself here. No distractions, no responsibilities, no way to procrastinate. Still, the pages remained blank. She sadly remembered the passion she had for the subject when she had begun her research five years ago. Nowadays even answering student emails about deadlines was more appealing than trying to wrestle her thesis into something that her supervisor would not want her to revise, rewrite, rethink... Sighing she pushed off from the tree. Collecting ice crystals on eyelashes wouldn’t solve anything, and the wind refused to whisper the answers. Returning to the cottage she snapped the laptop closed with barely a glance. By relaxing with a good book she could clear her mind, and return inspired. She hadn’t packed many novels, but the cabin boasted a few shelves of books: fantasy, romance, science fiction, even a few well-worn copies of local folklore. Settling into the saggy sofa, pulling a brightly patterned throw over her shoulders she opened the collection of local tales. The soft blanket, and crackling fire were calming, the slight whistle of the wind dulled her irritation. Eventually her eyes drifted shut, and the book dropped softly onto the cushions. Outside the cabin the snow fell, blanketing the trees and roof in an insulating sea of white. Silent but for the faraway howl of a wolf and the answer of its pack, the twilight faded into night.

Keira awoke hours later with an aching neck and pins and needles in her feet. Lurching upward she stumbled to the window, wrapped in the colorful blanket like a robe. Dazedly she gazed out at the yard. The snow glittered under the starlight. The full moon shone brilliantly, no city lights to rival her glow or disguise the constellations. Without consciously deciding to she found herself dressing again in outdoor layers, the blanket hastily thrown onto the couch as she stepped through the door and into the night. Hardly daring to breathe she took a few hesitant steps, reveling in the beauty, the serenity. The silence was complete, crystalline. She might have been the only person awake in the world.

Suddenly she threw her arms out, feet crunching the snow, she laughed and spun in an awkward circle. Small giggles escaping her lips at first, building to full-fledged laughter that burst from her mouth in cottony puffs of steam. Breathless she collapsed onto her back in the soft snow. Stray crystals landed gentle as kisses on her face. Gasping and still chuckling she wondered at herself. That urge to celebrate had taken her by surprise, she hardly knew why the night felt so sparkling, so joyful. Keira only knew that she hadn’t felt so unburdened in years. With only the stars to witness she felt almost reckless, playful. Gathering a huge armful of snow she began to do the most carefree thing she could imagine; by the lunar light she would make a snowman.

Unhurriedly, she packed the snow, groaning out loud as she hoisted the heavy balls on top of each other. Tilting her head, she regarded her efforts with pride. “You are rather misshapen, Frosty,” she chuckled at the snowman, “perhaps we can give you a bit more definition.” Hunting in the shallower drifts amongst the trees she found a short, sturdy stick. Keira felt blissful sculpting the packed snow, she had little time for art these days. The sky had taken on the faint flush of dawn when she stepped back, fingers half numb, but warm with satisfaction at her work. Roughly human shaped, with lumpy features and two pale pebbles for eyes, her snowman was complete. “Well handsome, I would keep calling you Frosty, but that’s a little predictable…lets see…” Stepping closer to the snowman she sobered her smile, reaching up on her tiptoes so that her lips just brushed his icy mouth she whispered, “Nice to meet you, Jack.” Her breath was visible in the small space between them, almost as if the snowman was also breathing the night air, his pebble eyes caught the light of the rising sun and they seemed to take on a twinkle of their own…

Cheeks suddenly burning with cold, she touched her fingers softly to her lips. That contrast between the warmth of her body and the chill of the snowman’s mouth brought her back to the moment. Any other time she might have been embarrassed, but she hadn’t felt so satisfied in ages. With a cheeky smile for Jack she swept the scarf from around her neck, settling it snuggly around his. Patting her hat into place on his head she let her fingers linger on the snowman’s smooth brow, then headed for the house. Humming a cheerful tune, she let herself in, stamping her feet on the doorframe to clear some of the snow from her boots. Touched by the glow of the rising sun Jack blushed slightly pink. If Keira had glanced out of the window, she might have been surprised by just how much her sculpting skills and the paint of the sunrise made her snowman resemble flesh and blood. Only the birds huddled deep in their nests were witness to the sparkle in the snowman’s rock eyes. Keira would have thought it was a trick of sunrise and shadow, how he seemed to have moved his head towards the picture window.

Later that evening Keira closed her book with a happy sigh. The crackle of the fire was warm, soothing. Not a word had been typed on the laptop that day, yet she could not regret. The weight of the task remained, but it wasn’t quite as heavy. Sometime during the night she had given herself permission to relax. “Maybe I’ll live here,” Keira mused, “Read, sculpt snow, listen to the wind. Be a forest lady,” she laughed softly and shifted, intending to share the joke with Jack. Instead, she squinted, moving up onto her knees as her eyes swept the clearing. She couldn’t believe it: Jack was gone.  

Incredulous, she dressed quickly, zipping her jacket up as she followed her own footprints to where she had built Jack. The snow was still packed down by her footprints, there was the stick she had used as an impromptu sculpting tool. She pivoted quickly, there, there were the tracks she had made rolling snowballs. All the evidence was there, yet her Jack had vanished. Slowly she searched for some sign, but there was nothing. “Jack?” she murmured out loud, feeling ridiculous. The wind caught the word; holding it in the air for a moment before letting it scatter. Where was her snowman?

Movement caught her eye and she turned quickly towards the trees. She hesitated at the forest’s edge, not wanting to disturb anything potentially dangerous, but allowing curiosity to overwhelm caution. Could the wind or some playful forest dwellers have knocked Jack down, scattering pieces amongst the trees? As no animal (dangerous or otherwise) emerged from the forest she began to move again, deeper and deeper into the waiting forest. Glancing over her shoulder, she made sure that she wasn’t wandering out of sight of the cabin. There was no trail, no compass, not even the sun was visible: no mystery was worth freezing to death if she couldn’t orient herself in the wilderness.

Emerging from the trees she found herself on a rocky outcropping that overlooked a vast valley of towering evergreens iced with dollops of snow. Frozen now in awe she forgot about her snowman, the unfinished thesis, even the icy air frosting her face, and just gazed at the view. Keira admired the way the wind played in the evergreens, undulating the forest like a vast, snow-covered sea. Every once in awhile a branch would sway just a little too far, suddenly cascading flakes into the forest below like a sprinkling of icing sugar. Time slipped away as she watched the snowy waltz, it was a balcony seat at the vastest theatre imaginable, a show for one.

Eventually the cold seeped through her parka where it met the frigid bark she had been leaning against. Pushing stiffly to her feet she retraced her steps, giving the scene one last smile. The sky was a lot darker than she expected so she began to double her pace. Time seems to flow differently here, Keira mused, wondering how she could lose herself so completely to the elements, how certain moments seemed to stretch into infinity. It was serene, there was no to-do list, only the promise of a toasty fire and a warm mug. The wind seemed to usher her home, with a gentle, guiding force against her back. As she approached the cabin, her eyes turned automatically to the place where her snowman had disappeared, stopping so suddenly that she almost toppled into the snow with shock. Jack was back.

Chills ran down her spine, a prickling of icy water. Giving the snowman a wide berth, she moved towards the house, barely pausing to knock the snow from her boots. Once inside she quickly closed the shades on the large picture window. Now moving slowly and deliberately, running a bath so hot that the steam fogged up the bathroom mirror. In the water she scrubbed hard, trying to erase the feelings of snowflakes on her skin. But the winter wind was still whispering in her ears, she couldn’t wash those glittering stone eyes from her mind.

Keira awoke the next morning feeling foolish and determined to not let the solitude, the spell of the cabin drive her to irrational thoughts. She had obviously been more stressed than she had known. Keira resolved to focus and write. No watching the wind dance through the trees. Absolutely no playing hide-and-seek with wandering snowmen. Opening the blinds with a yank Keira held her breath until she saw Jack, firmly planted in the yard as if he had never been gone. She gave him a stern look as she turned her laptop on. Resolutely she began to type, pressing the keys with firm, determined jabs. She would write, edit, and return to reality. That was the plan. Middle-aged people worked, they got jobs, binged TV shows, and sorted through junk emails. They didn’t chase a snowman through the woods under a full moon, they didn’t feel things when snowflakes caressed their cheeks as soft as fingertips.

The day wore on. Inside, words were typed, meals were cooked and eaten at regular intervals. Outside, snowflakes tumbled on a dry breeze. The snowman stood vigil. If the slanting shadows made him seem closer to the window, the birds declined to comment, and the wind was otherwise occupied.

Later that evening, head aching, Keira stretched and yawned. She should have felt accomplished. Instead, she felt wrung out emotionally by trying to twist her research into some form that would meet her committee’s approval. She rubbed tired eyes, wondering why trudging through this paper was harder than crunching through the winter snow. Leaning her chin on her knees she observed how the new snow had obscured her boot prints outside. It made Jack look isolated somehow, alone. She felt a sudden urge to brush the dusting of snow from his hat and scarf. Blushing, she found herself dressing quickly, muttering that the fresh snow would clear her head. She ignored the way her heart pounded, how her blood followed the icy breeze, straight toward her snowman.

Smoothing the snow from his knitted hat, she lingered in the twilight, whispering to Jack, “I wish I could stay here with you, telling stories to the moon.” She tore her eyes from Jack’s to wistfully admire the snow’s sparkle, more faceted than the night sky. “Try not to wander too far tonight, Jack Frost,” moving closer, voice barely audible, her blood shivered with a different type of cold as she met his stone eyes. “Give me some incentive to stay in front of that computer. To not just disappear into this night, with you.” She fled then, tripping over the clunky boots in her hurry. The cabin promised warmth, familiarity, security. Her truth hung in the air, crystalline and inescapable. Tempting.

Feet curled under a blanket on the couch, steaming mug in hand, thoughts whirling. One picture window drew a line between responsibilities and peace. Between predictability and possibility. Her breath quickened, even as her mind rebelled. Could she even reverse course at this point? How much could one really defy social expectations? Walking away was possible for teenagers, maybe young adults. Middle aged women took coffee breaks, walks. They didn’t fall in love with the song of the winter wind.

The moon moved over the cabin, secure in her path. Keira deliberated, considered social conventions, efforts spent, even an aloe plant that her neighbor was watering back at her apartment. As the sun rose she sat down at her computer, back straight, typed deliberately until the sky was awash with the citrus colors of dawn. After putting out the fire in the fireplace completely she dressed warmly and ventured out into the rosy dawn. The shadows of the evergreens gave Jack a shy smile and the wind swirled gently around her cheeks, welcoming her home.