Painting "Heading Home" © 1999 by ~ Danny Hahlbohm

The Cold Of Winter

     The morning mist rises from the waters, freezes and falls back to earth as snow... Bitter cold, winter is here and the chills in my body have found a match within the chills embedded in my soul...

     Strangers look at me and exclaim "chills of the soul! But how can that be?" I lower my head, pulling down the brim of my hat, and respond, can there be any other way for me, for us? For winter has come to the times of my life, the passions of love rise in the morning as the mists rose from the waters, they fall back unrequited like the cold snow falls back to earth. The seasons of my life have passed me by...

     First came the spring of my youth; when life was play, sounds were beautiful, joy was complete. Love was the lap of my mother, safety the arms of my father. Joy was stick horses, bare feet and hot summer sun. Laughter was the music of my soul...

     Next summer came into my life; and with it the music changed to marshal bands, the sound of bugles, the fluttering of flags. Love became my country, my honor, my code. Safety became the strength of my comrades and the power of my soul. Then violence and death became my constant companions, loneliness, tears and seeking, all made inroads in my heart...

     As fall came into my life it brought maturing, oh there were brief periods of Indian Summer, laughter from time to time spilled over into my world; but true joy was always just out of reach, like the leaf fluttering in the autumn winds. My heart heard alternating melodies floating through my soul; first the thrilling music of passion, then sadly thundering hymns of death and defeat. Like those dried leaves in the wind, my soul was blown hither and yon, seeking, never finding. Finding, but never holding. Holding but never possessing. Loving, but never truly loved in return...

     Now in my waning years comes the cold of winter into my life; torn is the very fabric of my soul, the music has turned sad back into reflections; reflections back on old desires, goals never quite attained. The cold of acceptance has finally soaked in, it chills my mind, the sadness of these few remaining lonely hours bring tears to my eyes, tears over what could have been and never was...

~ © 2001-2010 David L. Griffith ~


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Much of my graphics are © Danny Hahlbohm of Inspired-Art and used with permission