There is something about winter that seems to freeze the very joy in our hearts, as if the angels themselves sleep under the thick blankets of snow and the harsh glare from the sun is nothing more then a brilliant spotlight set up by flying demons to show us all our frailites and bring to light all our past pains so sharply and in such starkness they could shatter as cleanly as the ice that frames the barren fields of sleeping life.

Life sleeps when snow falls and warmth is stolen in such a way as to never be forgotten even when spring finally finds it's way back, so fully the warmth is taken that while we bask in the sun we dread the inevitiable return of the harsh winter. It always returns.

Always we return to past pains even as we force ourselves forward, away from the cold glares of dead times that leaves it's effect on souls and hearts that shiver in winds sent by the breath of the winter spirits. Even as we fight to hold in our hands the small slivers of light, the tiny doses of relief, the ice that belongs to winter flows through our veins, turning our lips blue and causing us to dread the warmth we once longed for. We fear that it will shatter the ice that flows through us and pierce our skin making it's way out for the world to see, slicing to ribbons what's left of our sensibilites and hope for warmer suns.

Suns are warmer after suffering the cold, and winter has it's way of reminding us of that. While we thaw we remember to be grateful for the warmth even though we know it cannot stay forever and we will need to be reminded again in one more season.

One more season to learn the lessons of pain and joy and their dance.

Dance, while we weep for past pains that show their face again just as we had thought they would let us alone.

We are never alone, if the grass does not grow winter will take it's place.

Take our places and let our hearts decide it's desire for the season.

Rest gently Storm

Copyright Amanda Miller September 22 2006