Thursday December 29, 2005

snowdrifted solitude

it wasn’t that the red shovel was particularly large or heavy, nor would it have stood out in any way against any other typical snow backdropped neighborhood with tree branches holding up white draperies of a late february snowfall. no, the red shovel stood out because it was being wielded precariously by a small girl covered from head to toe in faded purple. her coat and snow pants showed loving wear about the knees and elbows, and the hood was half torn away. the shovel seemed to control the purple mass of movement as the red dipped into the white sea and flipped out a cloud of ivory ash. sometimes it is entertaining to watch someone struggle so mightily and accomplish so little. especially after years of your own failures and trials. seeing that someone else not only knows of your pain, but is currently feeling it… there is something soothing, something that removes the loneliness. the loneliness of winter, of snowdrifted solitude.