Ebony Winter

It doesn’t snow here anymore. It hasn’t for decades. Not since mama used to wash clothes by hand until her fingers bled. Not since I realized that life gets harder with every twist of the knife.

Agony persists when your thoughts have nowhere to go, that's how I see it. Reminds me of a lesson my father once taught me. He said, "Irvin, trouble is easy to get into, but hard to get out of." He was right. Even if it was the only moral preaching he ever proffered me, it spoke every time I ventured down Main St in search of a lady. Filthy girls, but they served a purpose. She needed clothes on her back, and I needed to fill a void of my own making. Long story, maybe another time...

Last week I saw the clouds make a face, a smiling one. Ominous and foreboding it felt. God was laughing at me. I took a break from sweeping the porch and sat in the rocker to watch. In my sixty-three years, I have never seen a face in the sky. She was beautiful. I took my hat off and placed it over my heart; I never stopped being polite. I walked off the porch before it drifted past the house. In that moment, a single snowflake landed on my cheek. It readily melted and rolled down my muddled face. Suddenly, I no longer felt unimportant. I felt blessed. It was 80 degrees out that day.