Under The Pines

Part One: FROST

It’s snowing. Many flakes. Cold flakes. I don’t see the world anymore. I don’t hear the world anymore. Not anymore. I dream: of burning wood, of a fire that warms me. Out there in the snow.

It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt anymore.

You said, you could no longer feel my breath when you found me. Out there beneath the snow. You said, I was barely visible. Out there beneath the snow. Then everything happened quickly, you said.

I hear you now. I see you. Here. Here, it’s warm.
Frost.

Part Two

Every time we retire for the night. We take off our clothes and lay out new ones for the morning. Clothes in which our soul will be at home. I decide on clothes that are a little looser than the ones I am now taking off.

I have been lying awake the last few nights. With severe physical pain in my back and head. Just like last summer. And yet a smile accompanied me. A smile that knew more and looked deeper. A smile that knows that the clothes I laid out will fit my soul well in the morning.

Part Three: Under The Pines

Beneath the great pines in the vast park, exactly three in number. A man sits on the bench. His gaze turned inward. Motionless. With the winter sun and a smile upon his face.

What if some of us are meant to grow wings over the course of a lifetime? And what if it requires pain for them to break through? To finally unfold? Even alone, in the dark hours of pain and night, my imagination never fails me. And I am firmly convinced that even in the final hours of our lives, when we face death: our imagination is the most important companion we have.

I walk home; the next wave of pain is coming. Movement helps. Last time, it only lasted a few weeks. Now, I am more patient. With a smile upon my face.