The soul of solace
Always surprised
As if some spectator diety laughed at the absurdity of prediction 
For mortal souls
Never expected … solace often follows despair
Down a well beaten path
Where all colorful leaves have fallen and turned grey underfoot
She is the red cardinal, flickering like an lacquered fan opening, starkly bright against bleak winter sky
She is the tucked warmth of your bed, greeting weary limbs, needful of respite
A silver section of moonlight, glimpsing like thin nyaad at frosted window
She is the irregular beat of your memory, draining thoughts to drip wet til dry
A summation of a little life
Like a letter from an old friend, coming just when, you’d given up believing in serendipity
Yet she is there, watchful in the eves, of your blunders and taut anxiety
It is in the harmony of reconciliation, laying palm over palm, folding away pain, putting our best clothes on, even as we feel frozen
Walking through ice, glittering from dark branches and exposed tufts of miseltow
A tree filled with scarlet berries, feasted upon by tired ravens, huddled as one
The slow plume of smoke, a tang of burning wood and wet wool
Somewhere, something tries to survive
And pulling together like floundered ship, we tilt wildly and lurch against current
Holding on tightly, the ache in ourselves
Reminder that it is far from over
It may be sometimes grief steals our faith
And then, doorbell rings, a little light climbs in India ink sky
Some discovered solace, salve to thirsting soul, clamboring over emptiness and filling chill with hope

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