The Consort's Fate

Wind whistles across the field of grass. Each blade bends to its whim, the collective movement like a fluid picture beneath the summer's sun. It's graceful, as a whole, but if a single blade was pulled and subjected to the breeze, it would tremor in disarray.

Beneath the microscope of Nature, it would endure the humbling experience of isolation. A single blade plucked away from the rest. Exposed and alone. Hidden, yet longing to be threaded into the earth once again.

My thoughts continue on in this fashion, poetically macabre in their own right. They press down on me like a weight, heavier and heavier, until the feeling of isolation turns inward, caving into my still heart, and forcing splinters of proverbial ice to form around its border. I shoulder through the threshold of the door. The wind continues its song around me, beating the flaps of my coat and coercing the tendrils of my hair to participate in the dance of life.