Cold hearts

Unique as the distant fog blanketing the hills, bridges, and valleys while I stand in eighty degree dry heat.

 

Universal as the child reaching up, trying to grab the balloon that has fled from them.

 

What we discern as good or bad the sun shines and rain falls on all alike.

 

What would make them choose rain, cold, and fog over the sun and its warmth?

 

Is their heart so cold that the sun’s heat would melt it?

 

Is it that in the rain they can hide their tears in plain view instead of the dark?

 

Have their souls become so clouded by the hardships of life that the winter sky gives them solace in its similarity?

 

Schadenfreude I think it is; dancing, calling down thunder and lighting to interrupt the children playing in the park. Schadenfreude I think it is; delighting in old man winters bite, in his season of desolation and death, delighting in Demeter’s sadness where nothing new can be and all things old cease and deist. Schadenfreude I think it is; smiling with pleasure while those not equipped for cold try to bear, bundling and together to stay warm.

 

Maybe, just maybe that is the cause. Maybe, just maybe that is their only way. The simple need to be touched by another. The cold, the rain, the grey skies, only offers that one advantage. The warmth of those whom love blue sky, the sun and the heat is stored in their hearts and in their smiles. When the season of death and stillness comes they still remember the sun and people draw near to them and share in their touch, their warmth, their sun.

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2009