Embedded in the grass, dead leaves are fitted with icy suits of armor..
And only when the sun bathes them in the morning do they cast away the battle of the night.
I can see the transformation as the light crawls across the ground.
Ice prevails in shadow.. Shrinks in the sun.
Leaving a stark, dividing line where the heat has not yet traveled.
In this deepening November..
I find the cold can no longer reach into my bones the way it used to.
The frost now melts on the surface.
Leaving the marrow within warm and undisturbed..
Untouched. Finally allowed to mend the fissures of the past.
At dawn, I'm comforted by the hazy pink of the sunrise.
Fascinated by the jagged edges of the ice, slowly dissipating on the windshield.
And all at once, I'm met with emotions I feared had left me forever.
The frailty of youth, the caress of wonder, and the undulled sting of honest longing.
Unlike the leaves and plants..
The harshness of winter can no longer stall the life coursing through my body.
It can no longer leave me huddled and motionless..
Wholly dependent on the warmth of the sun to thrive.
The frigid silence of a winter night is no longer ominous.
The slowly rising sun, with weakened rays pushing through thick walls of fog..
Is no longer a release from despair.
The sadness is now calmed from within.
Dulled and silenced by the very heart which birthed it.
Though as I move forward, crunching the same dead leaves with heavy boots..
I think of you, and the agony you will never escape.
I imagine, with a swiftly beating heart, the minuscule features on your face.
And as always, I want to reach out to you.
Hold you tightly against me, then set you free.
Like a beautiful little dove, I imagine you flying away.
Eventually becoming a tiny speck of light.
You would grow smaller and smaller as you reached for the pale, winter sun..
And within its light, you would be free, at last, from the pain you never should have felt.