The winter's sharp winds cut freshly, weaving elegantly from tree to tree, soft snowfall guided by its chilling hands. The specks of pure white glittered like a masterful dance performed by millions, a pattern so enticing it almost made you forget the whispering death that bit sharply into the skin, reminding all of why winter was so feared. Winter meant a period of silence, only broken by the howls of ice and wind, blanketing all with a coat of pure white innocence beguiling, an uncaring and powerful force that threatened to overtake all, to softly suffocate the life of anything that was unfortunate enough to fall in its grasp. The chilling tendrils of winter enraptured all, yet still, it was ever so lonesome. Here, where life dared no longer grow, sunlight dare not warm, where only ice and snow ruled, loneliness prevailed. Perhaps, this is why I chose to be here.
A breath drew in, taking in the essence of cold, my lungs burning- strange, is it not? How both heat and cold can produce the same effects- they burned with the essence of winter. I held on just a moment longer, relishing the feeling of cold. The fire deep within me was jilted, it fought the cold, it burned the winter's breath inside me with a blazing passion, uncaring of what it wanted or what it did, all the fire did was what it always did.
It burned.
When the burned breath of winter was release from my confines, it screamed. From my lungs it slowly drew out, the life, the essence of winter all but gone in a fiery blaze, leaving behind a remnant of what once was. The essence of winter was there no longer, no, now all that remained was the passion of fire. Steam, born into this world, grew, intent on exploring all it could before winter bit into it like a rabid dog; It would not tolerate warmth, no, not in the desolate heart of winter. Where warmth was regaled, winter rushed forth and slew it without emotion.
Another breath was drawn. And once again was cold attacked by heat, and in turn heat attacked by cold. What a vicious cycle, is it not? Though it came from the simple motion of breathing. A process that was done instinctively, without thought, the body drew and released, unknowing of the cycle it contributed to.
A chuckle rumbled deep within me, drowned out by the lavish winds and blistering snow that hailed around me in a storm of desolation. Here I am, surrounded by loneliness, surrounded by desolation and my thoughts. Here I wonder of a cycle that only exists because of my observation. Here I am. Once more.
Alone.
My back lay on the dead bark of what once was a mighty tree, home to one and all. My knees brought forth, arms resting carelessly. The snow piled around me, a testament to how long I've been here. A deep breath. And once more the cycle repeats.
I ran here, hoping to get away from everything, if only for a moment. Away from what once was, away from what might be, afraid of what will be. A hand trailed up to my face, my eyes peeking open to gaze once more at the desolation around me. A flash, and in my hand I held passion, fury, and destruction. Fire was an element that consumed all, using others to prolong its short but powerful existence. Though, as with everything, perspective changes things. A fire that burned is now a fire that warmed, A winter that ravaged is now an unforgettable experience of joy and laughter. So what do I hold in my hand? A flame, a being of never ending hunger that consumes all till it eventually dies out? Or a fire, that which warms in the cold, brings hope to the hopeless?