I hope for snow this winter. Fat, wet flakes, covering everything in white.
A white sky and a white world. Still and quiet. A veil made to silence it all.
Wake up one morning, to the world held in an orb of clouded glass, unseen.
Not have to go to work. Not to have to rush and fret. Just let the sky close in.
Build a fire, pull my navy blue comforter over my legs, and read a book of
angels, the ones who rebelled, those who were faithful, and those whispering.
I might even allow myself to pine, like a young man. for a love that almost was.
A love long gone from my life. That dark, dark hair. Those eyes of clouded glass.
And as night falls on a still world, the stars unrevealed and the moon turned away,
I might stand in my door, and look into the shadows, and believe, no demon waits.