Small hand-drawn heart outline

The ewes have started lambing early and the beck has frozen solid enough that Dad let the dog walk across it, which he swore he would never allow after the Christmas it went through. I write this at the kitchen table with the lamp pulled close, because the fire won't hold before four and my fingers keep forgetting how to grip the pen. I've used the blue bottle from the bottom drawer, the one Mam kept for the parish registers. It is the colour of the bay at Scar Head on a flat day, which is probably why I took it.

Yesterday I went out to the far pen at dusk with the torch in my teeth and found the gate chain iced over, and Dad's old thermos sitting on the post where he'd left it. When I came back in, the window over the sink had fogged so thick the glass ran like milk. I drew a heart in the mist with one finger. It came out lopsided, so I went over it again, because my hand was shaking and I wanted it to look like I meant it. Now it has two edges, one a little ahead of the other, like somebody going back for a second look.

Mam would have said it was daft to waste warmth on glass. Dad only noticed it this morning and said nothing, but he put the kettle on twice, which is how he says he's proud of something.

The thaw is due Thursday, the radio says. I expect the heart will be gone by then, but I'll draw it again if you write back soon, and you can tell me whether the sea has finally been as blue as the ink.

Love, Nell