She heard the bells ringing. Night was falling, but there was enough light to see the flakes of snow making their slow way to the ground to add to the drift in the lee of the concrete base of the bench she sat upon. The wind couldnt catch it there, in its chill chiaroscuro..., and cast it away. The small pile looked as a land of its own. She saw a mountain slope topped with bare, grey, stone. Then a bed of white linen that flowed from shadow into light with only a glint showing it was not fabric. It ended at the heels of her scuffed boots. She felt it inside... the cold. It touched her edges... just the framework of who she really was. She shivered as the wind picked up and wished shed worn a scarf as the icy gust feathered her hair and peeked down the collar of her too light jacket. She rose to go back inside. The wind faded and she heard singing in the distance and turned. She hadnt noticed the small group of people holding candles near the entrance to the caves that peppered the hills surrounding the small village. The plumes of their breath accompanied each voice. The music touched her deeper than the cold. She listened to them sing and for that moment she was warmed by their voices. youtu.be/ifCWN5pJGIE
Posted on: Mon, 08 Dec 2014 11:46:16 +0000
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