We settled into our crooks and niches,
comfortable spaces
and told stories of the cold Winter,
warmed out hands on brazen egos,
stoked the fires of our self perception.
We didn’t ever think
that the cold, dark night
that howled itself hoarse outside
would want to come in.
It did.
It wanted to open the door.
It wanted to join us.
It wanted to feel the warmth of our skin,
the heat of our blood
and know the fires that sustained us.
So it did;
when a careless crack was left,
the howling winter pried its fingers in
and caught us unaware.
While we were sleeping
it watched us,
bundled up warm in our crooks and niches
and it slid its hands
along an exposed limb here
and across a cheek there.
Warm skin,
smooth like it had never known.
But the fire;
it wanted that fire.
So it took us all into its arms
and begged us
to show it what is was to be warm.
We screamed as we awoke,
frozen and cold;
those of us left to wake,
as some had slept too long
and Winter’s voice howled
through our little crooks and niches
and flayed upon our skin
and numbed our minds.
Finally,
we got our fires burning
and we sealed up the cracks
wrenched open by cold fingers.
Winter didn’t howl
as the flames licked the hearth;
he just stood there
with an odd look
and eventually,
he disappeared.
The snow outside still fell
and the wind still blew,
but the howling voice
of Winter’s fury was gone
and we settled
back into our little crooks and niches.
Warm, but less comfortable,
safe, but now wary.
listening,
for the howling Winter wind.
HG – 2007
