Blessing are on both sides


It is snowing softly,  No noise, just gentle small flakes falling together as millions of tiny commuters. Going down! , all going down.  While the silent pile grows slowly upward and the coldness holds them hostage, warmth keeps watch and waits until it wills to come along and send them all scattering into the air and the ground.  Such a view from the inside of a warm place where toes snuggle deep into blankets and fingers hold a big warm mug of steaming sweetness. Where blessed they sit and ponder not the lot of anyone else.

Eyes view this sight and momentarily troubles take flight.  Coolness from the window brings back the burning of toes in shoes where socks were meant are none, where mittens might help are socks instead and nothing to cover a head.  Those floating white fingers of frigid thieves, work their way into every inch of warmth’s memory.  There is noise, a low growling, the feeling is as though a wild thing has made purchase of the void area once know, as stomach – it is wildly thrashing for any morsel. A mere portion of an inch of measure stands like a barbaric beastly guardian. It may as well be a gulf un-measurable, for it would not be fordable.

How came I here?  What hath caused this to be my path?  Surely I am no better or worse than that one on the other side of the glass.  Is it in my power to bridge this gulf?  Why can’t one offer hope?  Why can’t one give of bounty?

I opened the door and welcomed in that one God sent to bless me.

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