Lucy reaches to refill my drink. Her elbow sticks into my stomach and pulls me out of a dream. I’m sure my eyes were closed for only a moment. A ray of sun had crept into the room, past the fireplace, across the couch cushions, over my face — hadn’t I just blinked it away? A long, lazy blink to clear my vision. But now our drinks are drained — gone with the sunbeam — and it is time to remember where I am.

Time to feel Lucy’s elbow.

Time to stoke the fire.

No more light comes through the cabin window. I can see a dull blue sky, thick with jealous clouds reluctantly gazing down on pristine, white snow. Even the trees are white. Through the window they are just silhouettes blocking the sun, now so low in the sky.

The elbow relaxes, releasing me. Lucy tucks herself into the corner of the sofa, swings her legs up onto mine, and spreads the wool blanket across our bare skin. She gives me a satisfied smile and raises her glass.

It takes me until the end of winter to gather the energy to reach for my drink, and then all of spring to pick it up. By the time we’ve clinked glasses it’s the middle of summer and I’ve gone savage with thirst. The glass is cold, the liquid is cold. My lips grow cold, then the sensation spills down my throat. The taste of mint is fall, but I crunch a piece of ice between my teeth and it is winter again.

Ice? When did Lucy fetch us fresh ice? And, when she went to get ice, why did I not get up to stoke the fire? I can see it is almost gone now; it just smolders with a glow to match the colors of the setting sun which peek around the trees and through the cabin window. I am warm, though. The blanket wraps our bodies in a hot embrace which would be almost uncomfortable, were it not for the drinks — the ice.

Perhaps I should have taken care of the fire at some point in the past year, the year I spent reaching. The year since I dreamt of walking outside through a snow-covered countryside. We let it go, though, Lucy and I. We let the fire die while we sip our iced drinks, digging our toes deeper into the blanket.

So the embers fade, and the sun sets.

It is dark, but we are warm outside.

And we are cold inside.