A cold resistance of hushed wind pushes against the glass window, whispering good morning to me. It was a forced tone and whisper that erupted across the span of my sheep wool blanket as the sunshine broke across my window. The few patches of stubborn green still bravely patched by the white falling snow. The cows bellow from the fields as the geese head South. The country is still, save for its nature’s tunings. The house is trimmed in white as the snow clumps across its frame the bricks color contrasts vibrantly. The sky is painted a mauve grey and frames fence posts and trees dark and brown like steaming black coffee.

landscape photography of lake
Photo by Emre Keskinol on Pexels.com

The glass separates the wildness from conventional. The blistering cold frosts the glass like a snow cone. It’s weight shifting the tree limbs in a slight wind. Which ones will be strong enough to stand the weight? Breaking is an option for some.

As the pearled row of blanket finished I gazed up to see flames pitching against the glass window. I wasn’t scared, why should I be. Flames only burn you when you give them control. I’m not scared. The eternal fire will singe its fireplace, but I’ll remain untouched, save for certain infirmities. What can they hurt my soul?  This is just a resting place for our souls to live awhile in. Prayers echo their resistance through that dark world. I’m not afraid of breaking glass, anyway.

The glass separates two sides forever divided for the better.

 

 

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