We had arrived earlier than expected, our disembarkation of the plane happening much quicker than others. The benefits of knowing the pilot I guess. The longest part of our journey turned out to be the drive to the cabin, with the roads winding and icy, circling the frozen tundra before diving into its heart. Of course, my driving was to blame but I didn’t let it spoil the potential perfect Christmas. When the cabin did eventually roll into view, my eyes widened and my breath hitched. The cabin was covered in a light layer of snow that waved and rolled over it, stretching down the logs that made its walls and melting down into the small stream that formed around it. Its chimney stood tall and proud against the emerald forest around it, its grey cobblestone drowned in white. Smoke gently drifted from the top of the chimney, slowly fading into the white sky and out of view. My wife gasped and grinned as she saw it, seemingly forgetting any of the irritations she had once had, following the cabin with her eyes until we reached it.

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As I pulled into the gravel driveway, my wife leapt from the car and rushed to the front of the cabin, arms wide like a child greeting a parent. I chuckled at the action and got out myself, moving around to the boot, popping it open and dragged the heavy suitcases from it. Once the cases were out, I turned and looked at the front of the building. The front and side of the cabin were lined with a wide deck, covered by a long roof which icicles had started to form on. It was made up for Christmas, with lights dancing around the windows and greenery and foliage growing around the balustrade and front door. The logs that made up the walls were almost glowing from the lights inside, the sun had started to set and the land around us was starting to grow dark, the cabin becoming a beacon within the forest. I then turned to my wife, opening my mouth to ask for her help, but she already had the key and was in the house by that time, exploring every nook and cranny the cabin had, oohing and aahing at every little thing. With a sigh, and smile on my face, I picked up the suitcases and walked in.

 

The inside of the cabin wasn’t much different from its exterior. The logs were still visible and sometimes obscured by paintings or rags that hung from the walls, creating a mock wallpaper. My wife had already torn through the house, collecting what loose art figures there were and rearranging them to her accord, a fun little trait of her’s I had tried to defend on multiple occasions but not too much effect. Soon enough, I had brought the suitcases into the cabin and closed the door behind me, the sudden warmth of the room now apparent and near sweltering. It was then that I realised my wife had stoked the fire, filling it with more logs than necessary, and was sitting on the sofa in front of it, her scarf and hat and boots on the floor, her thick coat spread wide and revealing her outstretched arms and relaxed body. I chuckled at the sight, pulling my gloves off.

 

“Warm?” I asked. She nodded gently, her smile growing slightly. I meandered across the room to the far side, staring out at the large, floor to ceiling windows that stood there, overlooking the forest and freezing river below, its crashing waters like a soft child’s cry. Beyond it all, I could see the sun as it started to dip under the tips of the trees, it's light filtering through the emerald needles and draped snow. I looked back at her, seeing she had become engulfed by the pillows and cushions of the sofa, her hands poking out of the top. She hadn’t done that by accident.

 

“What are you doing?” I sighed as I walked over and took her hand, gently pulling her from her pillowed cave, accompanied by her glum and frowning face.

 

“Can't a girl bury herself in pillows in a Canadian cabin?” she asked back. I opened my mouth to reply but I didn’t have the chance before she pulled me down, pinning me to the sofa. Admittedly, the pillows were very soft. She giggled and laughed as she held me, forcing my hands down, preventing me from moving. A reluctant and entertained smile spread across my face.

 

“Really?” She shrugged and relinquished her grip, flopping down on top of me, sighing deeply. I spluttered and gasped as her hair fell over her head, crashing down onto my face, falling into my mouth and eyes. Confused and slightly terrified, I squirmed and spat her hair from my mouth, feeling her chuckle against my chest, her azure eyes closed and smile wide. Carefully, I wrestled myself upright so I faced the fire, my wife immediately flopping down onto my lap, her arm coiling around my waist like a protective sleeve, her hands interlocking on the other side. The room seemed to settle, and I pulled the last of her hair from my face, allowing it to fall onto the floor, melding with the dust and small amount of dirt we had already tracked in. She would definitely make me clean that tomorrow. As I felt her ooze into my lap further, her grip loosening and her body crumbling in on itself, a satisfied sigh and moan came from her as she shuffled herself into a better position, her closed eyes staring out into the room. Instantly, the room lit up, her face seemingly now the focus. It was just like how we first met.

 

It was a good few years ago, I could never remember despite her constantly telling me on our numerous anniversaries, and we were at a large party, one I couldn’t remember. I recall staggering to the bar after one too many drinks and demanding the bartender order another round for me and my friends. I think it was a stag do, now that I think about it. I wasn’t drunk enough to be confident enough to call back to them that the drinks were ordered, but drunk enough to notice this woman sitting in the corner, slowly circling her wine in one hand. I walked over to her and smiled at her. She gave me an arrested smile back, unsure of what to make of this drunken, stumbling, drooling man who had wandered over to her.

 

“You’re too good lookin’ to be alone,” I apparently said. My wife says that she has an almost perfect memory of that night, so I just assume my wife knows what I said, based on the fact that the first memory I have of her is of her bare back in my bed the next morning. The girl I was speaking to that night, however, was not my future wife. The girl I spoke to was very resistant to my romantic pursuits. She remained seated and answered quickly and carefully, giving me quick glances and narrowed eyes, eyes I did not pick up on in my state. I was apparently whisked away from the girl by a strong pair of hands that pulled me towards the exit. Just as I got to the door, I supposedly realised where I was and turned, coming face to face with the person responsible. Now, as I said, I do not have any recollection of this night, so I will use my wife’s words to describe how I looked.

 

It was as though I had seen the most beautiful thing in the world. I stared long and hard at every part of her face like eyes scanning a vast valley at the top of a hill, following the path that I had just taken. This was all apparently accompanied by a wonky smile and half-closed eyelids. This woman was my wife. And, as I said, all I remember was waking up to her in my bed the next morning with a headache that would make Death want to kill himself. According to my wife, I treated her to a drink and then she walked me home before she wooed me into bed. A tale I happen to firmly agree with based on my previous experiences with women. That was when we started dating. Although that’s when I consider that time to be so. Technically, we didn’t start dating until the following month when we happened to stumble upon one another at a different bar, this time both fully sober. But, being the hopeless, and idiotic, romantic I am, I decided that the moment that that night began, our souls were intertwined. Incidentally, a line from my vows to her.

 

I cast my eyes up into the cabin, now remembering where I was. The fire was still burning brightly, its orange and red flames dancing behind the iron bars surrounding it, like prisoners rioting. The fireplace itself was old and made of red, crumbling brick. Although obvious attempts to repair and reconstruct it were clear on the surrounding logs and scratched flooring, it hadn’t worked for long, the constant warming and freezing of the material causing strain and stress on the bricks, causing them to collapse and break. The mantelpiece above the fire, however, was fine. It was perched upon its wooden brackets and looked very well looked after, it's glossy deep brown glowing in the firelight, the few items balanced upon it standing tall and proud high above the floor, as if mocking the others that sat on lower desks and tables. Embedded in the wood were three small brass hooks that protruded out into the room. I made a mental note to hang the stockings there as soon as possible.

 

I pulled my eyes around a little further, now being able to take in the glorious surroundings that the room had provided. I glossed over the suitcases that still sat in front of the door, the snow from their wheels now melted. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. As I reached the point I could no longer turn my neck, I could just see the wall curve off into the kitchen, seeing the counter lined with crockery and tins for our coffee and tea, not that we drank much of that anyway. I continued looking around, now turning towards the large windows at the opposite side of the room. The sun had now started to fully set, sending streaks of red and orange into the sky, beautifully rolling over the small white clouds that sat above them, threatening another layer of snow. The yellow ball could only just be seen through the emerald wall of trees and blanketed snow, its light gently glowing around each object as if the forest was holy. A smile stretched across my face.

 

In my lap, my wife shuffled again, turning so her face now looked up at mine. She was once again fast asleep. In the flickering firelight and dimming daylight, her features were more accentuated than ever before. Every crevasse and curve in her face was defined and sharp, every unwilling twitch and flicker memorising. Her gorgeous golden hair flowed flawlessly down her body, the ends growing red and curling upward around themselves. Under her eyelids, I could see her blue eyes darting around like she was a child watching a performance. With my free hand, the other trapped underneath her, I gently stroked her cheek, feeling her warm and soft skin beneath my fingertips, my smile broadening further. With one final trail across her jaw, I pulled my eyes away from her and looked back at the fire.

 

The fire had died down slightly, the logs that were blazing before now cinders and ashes in the tray beneath it, the only thing keeping it down the last few remains of the logs, the fire flickering and enveloping it like a panther to its prey. I nodded at the fire as if congratulating it for its work, swift as it was. Beside me, I could see the sun had now set beyond the treeline and horizon, the last slither of its light filling the sky with pink and yellow, a bright blue appearing beyond the white clouds that were starting to roll in. I watched as the light fell away, leaving the forest dark and eerie, barely a rustle amongst the crashing waters of the river below. Then, the clouds grew whiter and a soft hum began in the air. I couldn’t tell if it was from the feel of the Christmas tree that sat present-less in the corner of the room, its lights fading in and out as if asking for attention, or the rhythmic beating of my wife’s heart against me as the day drew to a close. Slowly, as if on request, snow began to fall from the sky, each flake illuminated in the warm light of the cabin.

 

We wanted to be here earlier, at least by the 22nd, but with delays and my mother, we only arrived today. However, we didn’t let it diminish our spirit. The day had ended, but we would celebrate tomorrow with gifts and laughs, creating a tale we will tell for many a year to come. With my wife in my arms, the gentle swaying of snow in the air, and the humming of my heart, I leaned back in the sofa and closed my eyes and drifted to sleep, satisfied Christmas Day was over.