November's kiss

"I wanted to feel the cold, so cold that the cold itself became permanently interesting." --Snow by Charles Baxter

Sometimes when your soul is craving the dancing glow of fireside warmth you have to sit in the snow. Become so chilled that for once your muddled thoughts become frozen. Those frozen icicles finally provide your soul rest.

Snowflakes dust your nose and you find those lost tears. Bubbling up from your well they tempt the ice to melt, but stick heavily to your cheek. Convinced that tears are the truest way to cleanse the weary. They tremble and stir until your stiff shoulders shake off the weight driving you into the cold, solid earth.

The embrace comes not from fire's flame lapping at your toes, but from an icy kiss only November can give.