Standing at the edge of the lake and staring out across the water, shouting up in secret anguish at the sky:
“Do you think love is strong enough to last the winter?”
And the answer echoes back:
“Yes. I do think love is strong enough to last the winter.”
And the ice that will be here soon may not melt until the spring, and the sun sets early so the light in the sky is already fading to dusk, and the critters are curling up under the mud on the bank of the pond to go sleep for a long time and not wake up until the world thaws out, and the geese are already gone.
And I’ll pretend I’m sat across the table from the splintered piece of soul of another wounded inner child who isn’t sure if any good and healthy love will ever stay with her, will ever last for a long time, and I’ll try to remind her:
“Love is strong enough to last the winter. You can set that worry down, now, dear one.”