A weather vane, swiveled on its spindle, catching a cold breath of tomorrow. It was a wind that carried no sound, only the promise of change. Below, in the hushed valley, the world lay in wait. Only the winds knew how deep the snow would be—a blanket vast enough to quiet the earth, or merely a dusting of the coming dawn. The vane held its rigid vigil, a silent prophet of the chill that seeped into the marrow of the air. It was all quiet, dormant in layers of hope.
Yet the wind was still there. Like a torch. It will be, it will come. It was as if it whispered, I lay here, the wind of change, brought to these shores by the aeons. I am no easy. I am a torch, the promise of love, to be carried by those that are awake on these dormant landscapes. Catching a cold breath of tomorrow.
a very beautiful write the two of you ❤️
Thank you, Brenda. I wanted you to do an audio of a story I have post, but hadn’t seen you for a couple of days.