Cold

My heart looks out beyond the cold current of life, beyond the sharp jagged rocks of despair. It searches for the warm meadows, lined with purple flowers and apple trees. Where the days are long and filled with the music of nature. But this fruitless search reveals only cold, cloud filled days. The music of nature has been replaced by the monotonous call of the foghorn, guiding lost souls through the angry storm. My heart retreats to the veiled safety of my pounding chest. I close my eyes to protect my frail soul from seeing these cold images laid before me. Soon it will be night and the real cold will set in for the Winter.