The Cold is close, so near, pulling the very air from the air, making all tight, taut. It caresses, nuzzles, sliding fingers into folds beneath cloth, pilfering heat.
Lovingly, achingly the Cold stands naked, bare under the deep, clear sky. Stars focus to crystal bright and the periphery of the night sharpens to brittle edge. So clear, clean...dangerous.
The Cold stands, tall, potent, embracing the world - amorous, powerful, calling all to halt, to respite.
Beholden, bound to beauty, within the Cold I stand arrested, my gaze upon stars, never clearer, even to my own failing eyes.
The landscape, luminous under a shaving of a moon with blue light on snow glow, everything superimposed, tree shadow circular imprint wavering not at all, frozen.
Cold reaches, I puff frosted breath, hesitating. As some to the sea and others to mountains, to Cold I would go. Some Stygian awareness compels, for this truly is the end to which I, we, all, accede. It was the before and will be the after and yet I stand in it now, safe, for it holds no malice. In its arms, the universe...
I shiver... turning away offered perfection, still too much a spark to yet answer the siren call.
In my home, refuge. My feline and canine companions greet with calm regard the return, knowing somehow, what has passed. They, too, understand the Cold. One here is absent, my heart holds a space for her return. Till then, I will warm this small space for those I love, a small bubble within the cold that will claim us all.
Comments