The warmth of my hands cradles your anger much the same way the summer days mellow the ice cubes that clink in your glass of lemonade,
Much the same way that a mother rocks her child whose crying fades as they listen to the lullaby of her heartbeat,
Much like how sunlight bathes the night in shades of iridescent hope that we call starlight and tugs on the eyelids of the universe to wake it to a new day,
I long to heal that wound of yours. I see it so clearly because it is a reflection of my own and yet I’ve learned to let go. My friend, let go-
I long to watch your snowy anger that frosts your soul melt to the Springtime of your spirit- how long will Winter be your season?
How long will anger be your answer to my compassion? How long will you paint your words with ice that no longer serves you?
That Blizzard is decades gone now. The salve is compassion. The reason is soft. The answer is love. It’s time to heal.
Gretchen Leary (McIntire) 