The Birds...1

Celeste fought the chilly push of the wind the same way she fought everything- with a quiet stoicism that belied the actual effort behind action. Like everything in life, she tried to five what she took, push for push, tug for tug, pain for pain. And there was a lot of Pain. She spent her life in it, swam in it, was drowning in it; and so despite the Advent of pain that was sure to follow, Celeste would do what she always did. Celeste would fight.




Michael was behind her, as he always seemed to be- struggling through the back draft as she pushed on alone, taking on the full force of life alone. Angrily, she shook her head trying to dislodge the bitterness that sired such thoughts and failing miserably.

The wind cut like a knife and Celeste lifted her head in defiance, welcoming a pain and cold that could be felt on the outside instead of the biting chill that seemed to encompass more and more of her soul with each passing day. Again her thoughts turned to Michael- pushing on behind her, yes, but there and ready to catch her if she fell. Except he could not catch her this time, and that, in essence, was the problem, the cause of the pain, the root of the bitterness- the source of the internal frost.



All around her the world was bathed in the physical manifestation of her internal climate. Snow fell soft, silent, and sad, blanketing the landscape- chilling it, forming a cold hard shell for protection. The whole world lay, breath bated, in anticipation of the end. From farther up the track, a lone sparrow gave its last cry, a dead goose lay face down and broken on the edge of the frozen lake, above a chorus of blackbirds made confused mournful circles in the icy clouds, an idiot robin stood watching serenely awaiting its own death as its tiny feet froze solid to the branch beneath it.



The birds are all dying....