Cold

[rejectomorph]

Now that winter has officially arrived, my brain has frozen. The waning moon is bright, and shares the sky with but a few scattered stars. I look at them and think of nothing. My brain has frozen. The lawn has frozen, too, and crunches if I step on it. I'm sure that ought to remind me of something, but it doesn't. Earlier, I heard the clop of a deer's hooves down the street, but the deer did not come toward my house. I waited for something to happen, but there was only silence. This is the very bottom of the year, the time of glacial thoughts and empty air, the heat drained away, drawn out through the skin, through the scalp, faster than it can be regenerated. I feel that chill in my head, and there is nothing I can say. My brain is frozen. Late in the night, Venus rises, and its bright reflected light gleams in the darkness like a bit of ice. All I can think of tonight is cold.