Today's Prompt: Write a brief bit of fiction using the prompt "Glove."
She stared out the window. Delicate flakes were falling ever so gracefully, landing in various places on the lawn. As she turned away, she felt a sting. The bite of winter was settling in.
It isn't as though she completely despised the season. No, that definitely wasn't it. The beauty of the frost upon every blade of grass, the snow covering the branches, it was all like an enchanted fairy land. The problem was the length. The chill. The everlasting death that came after the fairy land.
The bright red wool was the only light some days. Those worn out, ratty gloves that she spent so many long hours knitting. Crafts are not exactly her strong point, but gloves were a necessity during the cold season and she needed something to do.
Those gloves are the only thing keeping her warm.