The Cloud

      The cold winds of winter settled over the old cowboy, and it seemed like a cloud, hanging there, never moving, a cloud of chilling cold covering the pain in his soul. It had been so long since this emptiness had come to cover over him it seemed almost natural now.

     Where had his life gone, was the slamming of the door to be his final memory of love? Through the years all the things he had held dear had died, or just simply moved on. As winter came into his life he was now left all alone.

     This was not the loneliness of the kind that brings rest, a time of silence, or a time of renewal; no this was that cold biting loneliness that only one who had ridden the high mountain passes could know. Like a blanket it just hung there, becoming a part of every fiber in his being.

     Each night as he went to his empty bed his memories inflamed the old desires, but each night the empty room echoed back the cold cover of the cloud embedded in his soul. Was this to be his final lot in life? He could not help but reflect; “Have I reached that point in time when there is no more to life than pain?”


© 2004/2010 ~ David L. Griffith

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