The snowy days are spent gathering wood for the evening fires; fires that once roasted game for celebratory feasts. This winter brings few things to celebrate. The snows make the nights too long and “They” always, always come at night. The bleak cracks of day bring little solace. No longer are the days filled with the gain of our harvest. No longer do we gather together for prayer with a stern word for someone late or absent. Now the gathering prayers are filled with memorial words for the missing faces.
The face I miss most belongs to the good captain. I should’ve held his hand and chose to travel back across the seas. Father always said that a simple choice would change my life. Little did he know that his simple choice, one born out of neighborly kindness, might actually end his life; and not only his but all of ours as well.
testing comments - checked to see if there was a new entry and there is. Cool.
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