The Falling of Snow: Houses.

there are those things that need to be written.

 

The Falling of Snow: Houses

The man woke one day shrouded in sadness, the cloak of midnight round his shoulders and he did not know why but his glass was less than half full again.  All mornings were gray.  Nights were black and in between them lay nothing.  The man awoke one day with an emptiness he did not know he could feel.  The loneliness of the mountains was heavy and relentless like the winds hungry and pounding at the door.  Nothing truly mattered anymore.  In truth, or perhaps in spite of it, hers was the only light.  Sorrow of the snows that he should be so far away, trapped inside of his tightly built house. A house with no windows lets in no light.  Snow to the roof tiers and ice atop.  He had whispered her name to the mountains one day and as they bandied it about a rumbling arose about the house.  As he leapt inside and clawed at the still open door the echo of her name reached his ears.  Fearful he slammed it on its hinges.  A word following him and the first wave of snow following close behind.  The frame had shook but held somehow. That had been months ago, maybe years.  More than enough time to think of what little effort it might have taken to preserve those moments that could have made a difference.  Of nourishment he had none, save the echoing decay of her name and the memories of what they had been.

The winds had swept them through the years, the whisper of past lives heard in its rustling moans.  There had been so many times when it seemed they would be something less than complete without each other.  There had been a different house, this one on a thin sliver of receding beach.  The waves of the ocean hungrily lapped at the coast, the cozy wooden house stood barely out of its reach.  Those had been good times.  They had made a life at the waters’ edge, and it had kept him alive for a while.  Each morning they had risen with the sun and laughing, made their way westward along the shoreline.  Her hands in his, and he, losing himself among the blue-green vastness of the horizon, had known bliss.  Passing through enormous rocks that had existed since the beginning of time he often thought that he knew the secrets they whispered through the ground, and how they could withstand so much of time and still stand majestic and proud.  He told her of his love and when their lips met, he knew that he could never be a rock, because his heart felt like the ocean, limitless and flowing to meet her.  When they made love it was like the tide, hungry and forgiving.  When it was over they lay against the rocks, her body curled into him.  The winds made the sand dance, as they fell asleep mesmerized by the magic of the world.  When they awoke, it was to moonlight fragile and beautiful.  The beach was porcelain and foreign.  She held onto him as they walked towards the moon, the surf caressing their feet.  In the pale light the shadow of a ship displayed itself, a beacon in the still night, lodged upon the shoreline.  The shipwreck was not a large one, but it had been there since before anyone could remember.  They had journeyed to it many times in the past but he still could not contain his wonder at seeing it in its final resting place.  He feared he would one day end up just like that ship with its ruined hull, taken by the winds and dashed among the rocks.  He like that ship would one day be forgotten and only be used to dredge up the memory of some past lost love.  For now, he played with her amongst the soggy timbers, gasping at the coldness of the water, she shrieking her delight to the blackness of night.  Some time later he built a fire upon the sand, dragging loose the dead branches of the shore.  They lay in the circle of light, the fire talking to them, and they to each other.  At times nothing could be heard but the dry furious crackle of the flames, and the steady ebb and flow of the waters against the wreck.  And that too was good.         

                 “Can you feel it?” She had asked one night as they sat Indian style on the cool worn stones. “Feel what?” He asked, knowing that he both wanted and did not want to know whatever platitude she had unearthed.  “The way your heartbeat matches the rhythm of the rain.” She replied, As if it were the most apparent thing in the world. "No", He said even though he too could feel its webs spinning throughout the spaces between their bodies. Seeming to both accept and deny, she fell asleep in the crook of his arm. Her head upon his chest. He listened to the space of time between raindrops as they spattered the window, until he too fell asleep, facing the solitude which surely we all must know.

                As winter grew closer he withdrew closer into the confines of his house, his lifetime’s project.  Piece by piece constructed to keep out the world he could not control. Built upon heartache, loss and anger.  Fear thickened the walls and made the house dark.  There was no room between any of the cracks to let out anything.  Letting nothing in.  Until she had come straight up to the walls one day and with a word had shattered the foundations and he had let her in, although slightly unwilling at first.  She had made his house her own.  She tore down the walls and replaced them with something lighter. It seemed that his house was filled with her.  This had gone on for some time and she had come and gone as she pleased.  One day she had come over only to find him crouched and shivering in the corner.  Tears stained the ground beneath him.  And she despaired because she knew that even if she could chase away the shadows she could not banish them.  He despaired out of fear that the darkness would once more come for him, and would take her as well.  Feeling lost he turned her away, resigned to live without her if only to spare her the pain of knowing his wounds.  Shortly after she tried to return hoping her words would once again disperse the pain.  When she arrived the walls were once again thick and treacherous and it seemed that the cold night had finally had its way.  Everything had been boarded up and although she could see him through the cracks she would not soon hold him.

The man awoke one day shrouded in sadness, the cloak of midnight round his shoulders.  Surely he was trapped in this place he made his home.  Still he survived on the memory of his house having once been filled with her and the echo of her name coming to him from off the mountains.  When he is discovered, maybe even years from now, they will find the body of a scared boy and not know what to call him.

 

 

Author's Note

this is a work in progress and i am adding little by little to it, it is disjointed in places because i think i need to move some things around. let me know what you think

Reviews

[Danielle Asher]

i think you need to make this piece sparkle a little more... Just kidding. i really have no comments that I will leave here. :)