The Last Hour Before The Dark
Waiting. In the cold. In the dark. Her breath before her, fog. Her fingers, brittle twigs of ice. The last glow of summer sky slides like melting snow below the horizon. The sky is darkest blue. Each breath, a moment. Each moment, an hour; a day; a life.
The lights of the sky come out; the moon, the stars. And she waits. Her breath, her heart.
And when he comes, when he speaks beside her, his breath rolling out in white clouds, she seems not surprised; then, she barely moves at all.