Forged Footsteps

Gently drawing back the curtain she leans on the window frame and watches the frost glazed morning.  The trees are sparse, stripped of their leaves they stand bare and exposed.  A man crouches on the ground and blows into his clenched fists, nipped by the early chill.  He lights up a cigarette, and pauses with each reach to his mouth.  The faint glowing flicker slowly fades.  The day is still and undisturbed, even by the sound of a morning lark.  The fridge hums as she runs a bath and soaks, enveloped by warmth. 

She turns the keys but isn't sure how many times, a kitten is curled up on the faded armchair as she passes to call the iron lift.  Her breath is one step ahead of her new footsteps as she tries to take in everything around her.  The abandoned glass bottles, cigarette stumps like Hansel and Gretel breadcrumbs.  Buzzing the gate she smiles at the security guard who has one eye closed.  Making her way through the parted thicket blacked out cars in convoy pass and continue along the stretch.  She sees a lady foraging in amongst the woodland picking mushrooms, careful to avoid the toadstools.  Pine cones and leaves crunch underfoot as she makes her way...