This is a night that chills you to the bone. The penumbra that halo’ed the pale paper plate moon in the clear November sky predicted rainfall for the following morning. In the back of his mind, he fretted that he might not find appropriate shelter before the deluge began. He pressed on, the moonlight being the only visual aid at his disposal on the hazardous trek through the dense forest. The terrain he traversed was ill-travelled: Criss-crossed with brooks and streams, and littered with fallen logs, leaves and rocks of all sizes, some left behind by an impatiently receeding glacier of times long since passed.
He had left with a mix of emotions: a smile on his face; the oceans in his eyes. As he walked thru the wilderness, the bitter cold did nothing to cool to firestorm in his heart, did nothing at all except freeze the salt water rivers that slowly eroded canyons into his cheesks. He sang softly to himself as he walked:
“These fever dreams are getting worse,
This heart of mine – forever cursed.
I did not want to feel this way -
I’ll never fall in love again.”
