Whistle Cherry Whistle

Beautiful sparks of red against a black mask chirped.

Head twisted, half cocked, then turned again.

"Chirp."

I heard it flutter away, the shy little bird like a red arrow against the white fray as I watched plumes of air echo off my aching throat before the cold reached back in and stole my breath away.

I picked up my hands, staring at purpling and pinking finger tips to brush the snow away from the top of the porch.

Here.

Here was life.

Life as I knew it.

Know it.

Beauty in all the things high and low,

if only I was it.

Nature, so lovely, she'd steal your breath away.

Take it away, and breathe life into another day.

Oh, what is my life, but a soft borrowed breath aching against borrowed time.

For this is me, this is my 'life.'

As temporary as it may be.