The Knock They've learned there's value in silence, preserving their words for their own ears. A mother. Her girl. Standing in a quiet that possesses the room, except for the snap of flames that live in the logs. A branch that settles, and sparks, and shifts in the iron grate. Firelight deepens the inexact shadows as sleep teases a ginger cat. Its tail replies to tiny bombs of sap. And then, the moment is stolen by a hard knock on the door. Once, and again ... and again. The cat gathers itself closer to the woman and girl. Even a cat knows that there's safety in numbers.
Written for Visual Verse’s November image prompt for Vol. 09 Chapter 01. ©Misky 2021