To the Editor,
Tis the frigid winds of life's winter that chills us to the bone. Under the morose, dismal grey skies above that cast no shadow but envelope us in seemingly unending coldness. And we acclimate ourselves to that by withdrawing to seek warmth and comfort, which we conserve for our own use, leaving none to spare for others.
We yearn to relive those days where despite the lack of the sun, of the warmth of external compassion, we could seek shelter and warm ourselves by a hearth, eternally burning in our perception, and feast upon the love and nurturing it provided.
Sometimes it was a smile or a kind word that would keep the coldness at bay. Or just a look in our direction that would warm us. But always, even being far away, we knew of its sanctuary, a place of refuge that we could always enter, anytime, and be welcome.
It is that of time immortal that reflects the conditions of life itself, that the physical being cannot stand forever. That even mountains standing in majesty will eventually succumb to the winds of time and the rains of life slowly move it to the shores of a greater ocean. And that shelter in its physical form is gone from our sight.
And we left in its void stand naked before the touch of winter. We try to shield ourselves with our threadbare sorrow and grief. But we must feel the fullness of where we are at in order to understand what it is that we have lost. And the cold winds thresh us.
It is is when we get to our core that we see we still have a small flame from that hearth flickering deep inside of us. That, in reality, the warmth, however diminished, still remains. So we protect it, keep it going by adding, little by little, more remembrance of it's source until it maintains itself. We build a new hearth around it. Then make another shelter to house it. The coldness dissipates around us. And we have that warmth, although different, once again. And we endure the winter knowing that soon it will pass.
We awake one day as the sun returns, its light streaming in through our windows filling our homes. We climb out of our beds of sadness and open the door.
We stand before the brightness of her smile, of her love that will always be in us.
And we are warm once again.
Thank you Mom.
Alan Fox, Waxahachie