The night is raging. Wind blasts incessantly from the west, whipping through tall trees and beating against my bedroom windows. Around each windward door a steady stream of cold air trickles in. Outside the night is dark—a cloudless, starless, blacker-than-black kind of dark. With each passing hour the temperature drops a couple degrees; the forecast calls for a low of six before sun. It’s nights like these when I think of people, families who have no place of their own. Where do they go? How do they get by? I take comfort in my warm home, my blankets and wife, but I can’t fully rest knowing people are out there. It is a thin line that separates our realities from theirs; it is a line drawn by only one misstep or one stroke of bad luck. Take care, everyone, and thank you for following.
Posted on: Tue, 06 Jan 2015 01:13:06 +0000
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