Nobody Knows How the Story Ends

Nature’s way has taken a vicious curve. Snow pummels down in blankets as my visage is clouded to only 2 feet ahead of my trembling feet.  Snowy white like a newly pressed wedding gown. Everything is veiled around me.

A red bird chirps ahead of me, silhouetted in white, maybe a sign of love? The love finds my fingers pull and fold clothes as I wonder what awaits their calloused countenance. Silly hands that have made art, pies, scarves. But could someday bear the fate of my life.

The red bird vanishes into the orchard webbed in white like a white cloistered nun. No one knows where we’re bound during this life. Nobody knows how the story ends.

The snow’s rage torrents down en masse diminishing the path ahead. Where are we bound? No one knows.

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