The long cold silent winter
stretches out like a thin blanket
on a loveless bed.
I trust
life is breathing –
a barely beating heart
in hidden leaves and sunken acorns
frigid bulbs.
The silence menaces me.
No birds
no dogs
no screen doors slamming.
No ribald teenage calls
at two in the morning
from the bus stop across the way.
No songs
ringing out on six strings
sung with laughter
and too much red wine.

The sun colours the sky as it rises.
The bleakness blushes
and I am reminded
this too shall pass.
The patience taught by winter
cold but not frozen
nor forgotten.

One afternoon Laurence signs on and it’s apparent he’s drunk. We spend the afternoon singing and laughing. As songs play on his iPod, he weaves the lyrics into his silly, intoxicated chat. I can almost hear what he is listening to.
We share the same musical taste; somehow we share the same past. I feel like Laurence is a long lost twin. Comparing notes we discover we love the same artists. Laurence touches my soul with music. Our harmony is liberating; music Mark sniffs at, Laurence loves; I feel confirmed.
Later, I send Laurence an apologetic email, embarrassed that I encouraged such a ribald serenade from him, a waste of an afternoon. But he too is silent as he slips into his home life.
Trapped and anxious I sit in my apartment watching the sky outside the window. I know I am in the midst of something monumental but I know not what.
I cannot keep working at my job. My boss despises me. When I try to debrief, Mark sneers at me. It is winter. I sense Spring will come, but I keep forgetting.


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