Mel Evers wonders about it all

Is the collusion of snowflakes a blanket of ignorance that makes everything the same? Suffocate differences. The absence of color. Numbing pain. A blanket of cold appearing as warmth in desperate hands. Blood and bone beneath sheets of foggy ice. Freezing thoughts of comfort. A slow death. Sleeping betrayal. Yes. But. The sun comes out. Heat melts the eyes awakens the mind and stimulates the heart. Not all but some. Enough. To burn the blanket. Dissolving the carefully woven crystals arresting thoughts. Salvation. Self-preservation. In that light, that encouraging inferno, we cling to each other. We are one, the decrepit, the strong, the despairing, the hearty. There are no them—we—us. Just me.