Wind barges through the door bringing an overwhelming Chill.

Face, hands, and feet turn icy.

However, Hope waits outside ringing the doorbell, knocking on the door.

Eyes, heart, and soul burning with purpose.

With a smile I welcome Hope in keeping Chill out.

On the rocking chair Hope sits. We catch up. So gentle. So kind. Then Hope tells me it’s time to go once again.

With tears I see Hope’s back.

This way Chill never acts.

Upon Hope’s exit the door never shuts. Chill barges back in. So my days continue with the blustery Chill.

This pattern goes on until I grow old.

Warmed by the presence of hope for a time but overwhelmed by the cold.

Twitter: @growthucator