The Bookseller

The city clock had just gone four as the couple heated themselves with brisk walking through the palpable fog and biting frost. A person must have an intent purpose to navigate the harsh elements of this dreary, dark day. The sun had seemingly never traveled the zenith of the sky but must have surrendered to the horizon before midmorning. The cumbrous fog shrouded the street like a think veil causing fellow travelers to appear as purposeful phantoms traversing in the late afternoon. The halo of a flaring candle in the bookseller’s window sent a lonely beacon of cheeriness out seeming to say “Welcome. Please stop within.” The gentleman shopper opened the heavy, ornate door bearing the signage of books for his lady as the fog came pouring off of the street and reaching out its long, thin tendrals into the respite bearing the knowledge of the ages. The bookseller’s eyes twinkled as he recognized his favorite customers not by sight but my the sound of their approach…