Winter Solstice

You find a place where the sun reaches across the river with a little feeble warmth to rest on your face. Soon it will be the shortest day. The shadows are cold and stretch out like fingers, pinching at what light you've managed to keep flickering within yourself. You find something pleasant to think about, a memory perhaps, a fancy, anything to put into an old heater to keep you warm and give out a comforting glow. It is then, images begin to take form in flame as something in you stirs and writes itself in ash to mark another winter solstice on the walls of your hibernating soul.