“Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.”
– Fire and Ice
Robert Frost, 1923
The mountains there are different. To stand in their shadows is to be offered a piece of something greater than yourself. The silence can be heard, the isolation tasted. Their grandeur affords a sense of being truly alone at which the soul can only hint at in the midst of a crowd.
It had to be here.
In the shadows of something that made me feel small.
In the midst of the darkness, watching the moon dance on the water’s edge.
They told her she had wings but all she could ever find were scars. It seems fitting then, to die so close to the sky. When one wanders through the wilderness seeking fire, the touch of ice is deafening.
In the end, no one has any answers.
Only faith in sacred dreams and frightened nightmares.
They taught us to fear the darkness.
She watched her insignificant words burn and carefully put out the fire before slipping into the icy water. Cold. Numb.
… she’d always hoped her world would end in fire.