I like to think December is dressed in ermine. Her neck drips with rubies. She has a cane, silk pearl gloves, and her hair is done up in such a way as to declare she has all the time in the world. It gleams when the light moves on it, just so, and she does not wear a hat. No sir. A hat would destroy the effect she so longs to have on people.
Would you like an ermine coat, Laura?
Goodness me, no. What an awful thing to want to wear. I don’t know where I would even wear an ermine coat. To the town market? While I am weeding the garden? Milking the cow? Shooing chickens out of the kitchen?
Oh, I am sure you could find somewhere to wear an ermine coat.
Catch me wearing an ermine, Tom. Just catch me!
I take it you still despise December?
Oh, despise is too strong a word. I think December is very beautiful.
But she does not make you happy?
She makes me more sad than happy.
Sad, Laura? Why?
She is gloom. Doom. Darkness. She has disdain for the sun. She is lofty and cold. She would never embrace you in her ermine arms should you need comfort. Why, she is an icy woman with no heart.
December, with no heart!? It cannot be.
I am very firm in this conviction. She has no heart. If she had a heart, she would relent a little. Give us some hope.
I think she is very hopeful.
Does she give you hope, Tom?
She sent me a letter, last year. A letter that gave me a lot of hope.
Ahh. Yes. She did do that.