The Hope of LOVE

Cold rain hit the windshield of the 1982 Honda Accord. Headlights shone through the early morning darkness. Layered in a sweater and a cheap coat and clothes that she tried to make look professional. She could see her breath, even inside the car, even after an amount of time that should have allowed the car to warm up. The heat had gone, along with many of the other functions of the old car.

“Damn it!” A wiper flew off to the left, barely hanging on. She tried to see through the pouring freezing rain as she manually rolled down the window, stuck her arm into the weather and pushed the wiper back into place, “brrrr,” rolling the window up quickly and shivering.

Date night. Focus. The monotony, the routine of the day, Focus on the reward. She straightened up in her chair and tried to pull herself out of the pit of the “Woe is me”s.

“Old car?” At least she had one.

“Cold?” Snow was in the forecast and she loved snow!

“Early morning?” She was on her way to tutor children. And on her way to becoming a teacher.

And she had a date that night. It was Friday. He was so handsome. He was tall and had broad shoulders. His smile made her blush and her heart beat wildly. They would sit and talk and talk and smile and laugh and talk and talk. Could this be the beginning of what she had dreamed of since she was a little girl? Could this be, did she dare even think that sacred word, love?

On that rainy, cold morning, traveling down the road in an old beat up Honda, she was suddenly the happiest girl in the world. A smile began on her face and warmed her whole body.

What had changed?

The hope of LOVE.


Human Blizzard

Falling snowflake. Unique. Each one different from the other. No ten match. No four the same. No two identical. Masses of them falling to the ground. Falling art, masterpieces. Beauty that can never be duplicated. Fall and melt. Never to be admired. Never discovered. Never put on display in a museum. Falling, falling, melting.

Millions born daily. Human masterpieces. No skin shared. There are no copies of the pupil or the iris. Strands of hair that never were and never will be again. You are the only you that can ever think your thoughts. You are the only you that can live your life. No one else can fulfill your purpose. Falling. Falling. Melting.