Glacial

GLACIAL Scent of lilies. His pain over, mine just begun. I caressed those hands, gifted, loving. Kissed his waxen brow. A blink away from the dying sun, the ignition key trembled. I half-expected to waken, clasped in his arms. Soothed back to life, on the mourning air. Our silent house stood strong, and healthy, ticking away lonely hours and empty nights. While I flinched from the glacial steppes, of our marital bed. DECIMA WRAXALL