Out of my window,
In the earliest parts of the morning
The horizon glows.
Soft,
Like a candle in an empty pool of night.
It isn’t bright, not warm.
I pull the soft, wooly blanket closer.
Even though the house is warm,
I shiver at the sunrise.
It is a cold, endless one.
Few clouds block the sky.
A true arctic solitariness is realized…
It feels like an iceberg:
Light,
Cold,
Barren.
I press my cheek to the window
As I watch the sun illuminate the earth.
The glass stings cold against my face
As the window fogs,
And the arctic vision fades.
The harsh noise of aloneness echoes throughout my room.
It reverberates off the walls and returns to me,
“Wake up. Can’t you see the sun is rising?”
I answer aloud: “I can”
It does not respond.
And I decide to stay in bed and wait
For the arctic to melt
And the sun to warm it into day.