I do not Know What I Wait For

The sky has no color and neither do the walls holding the windows to the outside. The floor and the ceiling are all the same monotonous bleak gray. Even gray seems too beautiful a word for it. This is my world. There is no pain, but there is no joy. I have never felt the bite of a cruel winter wind, nor have I ever been caressed by the gentle breeze on a perfect spring day.

I've sat for a million days on this bed and stared out that shapeless window, and never once has anything changed. The wind does not stir or rustle, nor does it howl or shriek. I live in this never-changing never-certain world. As I said before, there is no pain, though, nor cold, nor do I hunger. So, I do not complain. I sit in my catatonic state and stare out my shapeless window and I wait.

I do not know what I wait for.

I feel as if whatever it is I am waiting for will not be rushed. It will take its time to come to me, and yet I feel as if the wait is worth it.

Already things have begun to alter, I can feel it in the air. A creeping light has formed a crack under my door where there has never been one before. I wait in torture as the changes are so slight, so small. I can feel the need for it in my heart, growing stronger and stronger everyday.

This bleakness, this gray, I cannot take one more day. Not another just sitting on this bed waiting to be nothing other other than dead, or at least I might as well be. For I do nothing but sit and see, sit and see this never-ending, never-changing day. Temperatures are dropping, a chill makes it into this haze of a room.

The change is coming.

Trees and the sky are coloring themselves surprised.

Reds and oranges and browns, ambers and maroons and burgundies.

It's as if the world is on fire.

This fire does not burn though, it is crisp and biting, turning the tip of my nose pink and filling my cheeks with color. In this room with no shapes or certainty a warmth is finally found, the warmth found from burying deep within my coverlets in a desperate escape from the cold.

Hiding makes me restless, for I fear this change will not last, I despair that it may bore of me and flutter away. Emerging from my cocoon I stumble to the tiny window to discover this new world. Resting my elbows against the pane glass I admire the way the rusted leaves sway and flow in their never ending dance, I watch as the wind stirs old lives to new, and smile as the heavy clouds cover the sky like a mother tucking her child into sleep.

Until today I would not have known to appreciate the warmth of Fall. The feel of warmth against my skin from the hearth, scarves and hats made by loved ones, and other warm thoughts drift through my mind as my breath fogs the bay window. Sitting on the sill I breathe in with excitement as my world continues in its glorious change.

A music forms in the air, a psalm I've never heard before, with loving words and tones that permeate the air. It doesn't crawl under my door in barely-there whispers, no. It flies through these darkened walls and it stands tall and proud; inviting, demanding my presence rather than requesting or begging.

Fall flows freely from my opened eyes, she takes hold of my numb hands and drags me to my reluctant feet. She sweeps though this old, gray room of mine and brings with her all the beauty of the season.

I stumble over my clumsy feet, but she catches me and pulls me through the space where that shapeless window use to wait. Now there is no window, rather the wall is gone entirely. A direct path to my new world, her beautiful world, stands before my tired eyes.

I cry as the wind bites at my toes and breathes down the back of my naked neck. She holds me close and comforts me, she reminds me that one cannot truly rejoice in the warmth until they have suffered the cold. With these words I love the chill I feel. I learn to suffer the cold and hold myself strong against it, for Fall will always be warm once more, one must simply be willing to wait.