Gray

A ghost-gray December had settled in the valley early that year. Even before the children pranced the wide streets garbed as superheroes and pretty pink princesses, the sun had begun hiding his face most days. Janie didn't care. She liked the quiet of the mists rolling in from the lake, the cozy ideal of being snug in one's own home. Each morning, before the wan sun began its ascent up the clouds, Janie walked the sidewalks, noting the homes decked out in holiday lights and adornments. Each year it seemed like everyone tried to outdo themselves and each other. Part of her bristled at this thought, but she admitted to herself, the houses really were beautiful. Her favorite house lay a distance away from the others. It was the last house before the hill, faded and small. Every year  the same decorations shone: simple colored lights alternating around the base of the house, and a lit snowflake on the red front door. On closer inspection, the painted door was chipping, and the wood siding close to the ground was rotting. But even at this early hour, a light shone from a window, a view of a wooden oak rocker with a red plaid pillow tossed carelessly in its corner greeted Janie.

Home.