Futile State

Great raging torrents of sadness cascade-crash over me. My children have fled. Hearth and home offer no comfort. There is no warm light beckoning. My sanctuary is cold and barren.

In disbelief I sit staring blankly at Cardinals and Sparrows foraging beneath frozen feeders. Spreading seed on the hard snow pack was the only thing I could think to do. Feeding the birds is the only good I could do. Then sit and blindly stare.

Seething raw anger erupts railing against the futile state. Then deflated realizing I cannot will the electricity to return any more than I can will my children to give up the boisterous company of their friends to return to this cold house.

Empty now save the racking sigh-sobs of despair. Tears welling in glassy unfocused eyes overflow, trace cheek to chin then fall away into darkness.