Stolen Heart

I stood on the cobbled street at midnight - gentle wafts of the Cassis vineyards dancing on air, mixing, not unpleasantly, with the bite of late December, (reminding me fondly of my days writing in Paris, and the trips my love and I made to the countryside on long weekends, for picnics and rest). The sweet lull of a small choir floated tenderly from the chapel nearby - 'O little town of Bethlehem' ... coaxing even more poignant thoughts of childhood, Christmases in the little church by the lake, when all that mattered was held inside my family's home at night, warm and cared for and safe. I looked up at the sharp glints of winter suns, thinking how each was a true-but-intangible thread of light that tied me inexorably to all I needed and loved - to all that I cared or worried about in the world now, no matter where she had been taken away to ... No matter where I now had to follow to win her back.