Monday, December 10, 2012

The Cold.

Today, wind rushes over the earth, frantic searching. The sky is part clouds. Shadows fill our valley. They dance over brilliant white mountain peeks and the gentle sloping curves of hills.

The wind is cold. Bitter cold.

Not the gentle cold, of falling snowflakes.
Not the crisp cold of a clear night.
Not the silent cold of a snowy forest.

This cold is grasping, clawing; fierce. A pack of hungry wolves, scratching tearing my skin till the nerve endings gape open to the raw cold. Yellow teeth fill their foul mouths, open and threatening. Gaunt sides heave as they gallop over the land desperate for a place to rest, a place to hide away from all that intimidates. They scour the ground for something, anything, to satisfy their savage hunger. Angry and vicious, they growl and bite at each other's heels.

I struggle against the pack of cold. Growls low, menancing, they nip at my coat tails. This pack, persistent and starving, doesn't let me alone! They circle me. A snap of sharp teeth. A wolf jumps for my coat collar. I stumble backward. I yank my coat from fierce teeth.

I break into a run.

Panting, struggling against their force.

I burst through the door. Slam it shut behind me. I collapse in a heap. My skin stinging, bright red.

The wolves whine and scratch at the door. I hear them circle the house, frantic, searching.