The Fireplace and The Car

I walk over to the fireplace that has warmed the hands of inhabitants down the ages. Staffordshire pottery dogs stand attentively at either end of the dark mahogany mantle shelf, their orange and gold markings complimenting the lazy flames, that reach up like arms seeking solace from the soot-blackened grate. The clock in the centre passes time as I move to warm my hands.

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The warm breath of Michael met the cold interior of the car that had stood outside all night in sub-zero temperatures and clashed, forming steam like an over-boiling kettle. He slammed the door shut as he sat in position. The key slid and clicked into the ignition and he turned it confidently. The engine repeatedly barked like a demented dog that had been left out in a field but did not run. His eyebrows raised slightly and he tried again and was met with the same response. He took his foot off the accelerator pedal and tried again. This time the dog barked, then coughed a couple of times and finally sprang into life. Michael smiled and pressed his right foot on the accelerator pedal a couple of times now, revving the engine. The mild frost that had formed on the carburetor of the flat four engine melted away as it started to warm.

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-- A couple of my warm up pieces --

RP


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