Once in the last winter,
When cold had again dominated its foes;
The trees hid under their cold leaves,
All cozy and curled up;
Icy winds and slippery snow, the cold had dominated its foes.
The cold breeze had torn through me,
Right into the core…
Shriveling and in pain I was, as the icy fangs ripped me apart;
But my roots were never to give up,
Holding tight onto the ground, now even more;
Once again had the cold, dominated its foes.
The green coloured savior had made its sacrifice;
Protecting me it lost its life…
Once again I was vulnerable, I heard my pillars crying out in broken voice;
Nature warned me, said, “Pain or peace? Make your choice..”
The choice was clear, it was too much to bear;
And as I decided upon my last breath;
I heard her wings flap and then stop,
A creature I could sense from afar, I thought;
To my surprise, it enslaved me in its magical arms, and held me strong;
As comforting as she was, Baffled, I asked-“Are you an Angel?”
Replied she, with her soft rose-petaled lips: “They call me Warmth.”
That first fragment of pure energy you feel when the heat brushes against your cold shivering hands, that sense of security, the feeling of an entity comforting you, holding your cold hands, calming them with her warm fingers clenching at your hand, right through your fingers, not too tight, not very loosened, just the perfect; That is Warmth.
Warmth. Is it an emotion? Is it a feeling? Maybe a metaphorical one. Do you ever wonder how something that beautiful, something giving you that kind of solace, doesn’t have a light in it? That it isn’t alive? That it doesn’t have a soul? I do. I seem to believe something with such grace, cannot be without a soul.
Some of you might relate with what I am trying to achieve here. And the others? Those who can’t? Sometime, someday, you will experience Warmth in a way no more different than I have. I have been fortunate enough to have had my summer in the cold winds. Someday, I promise, you’ll get to feel yours.