Photograph © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
When she saw him opening his mouth, she pressed her nose to the window and stared at the ponies pulling at their hay in the field.
‘Oh.’ The ponies were clouded with snow but their tails dripped and their warm bodies steamed.
‘Haven’t you anything else to say?’ His hand tugged at her arm as if he hoped to shake it out of her.
She regretted the question mark even before the little word had turned to condensation on the glass.