Outside in the cold
I stand outside in the cold. Shelter is nearby, but I don’t go in. There is a strange comfort in the solitude, and in the biting wind. At least it is familiar.
Inside where it is warm, I feel strange. I don’t think I belong there.
So, I stand high on the ridge. The stars shine brightly overhead. Perhaps I will join them one day. The valley is quiet, but my heart is not. The restlessness is always there.
I hear voices calling me inside. To come out of the cold, but I am reluctant. I think the voices of the silent ones speak more strongly. It is hard to leave them.
Maybe one day I’ll go inside, but then they will see the stain on my hands. So maybe it’s better to stay here. Besides, inside it might be hard to hear the fallen ones.
Sometimes I see old, gray warriors out here. They look at me with deep piercing eyes. They were once young too. I feel a kinship, but we do not speak. Will I still be standing out here when I am old?