I take the knife and carve away a slither.
The exposed skin reddens at the touch of cold air
and regrows its protective casing.
I try again, carving away another slice,
yet still the ice seeps in and forces retreat.
Moons change and the casing grows thin,
I cannot depend on it for support much longer.
The crushing air outside is still strong…but wait!
Is that a warm spot approaching in the distance?
I can last just a little longer. A fraction more.
I reach out
and it takes me with it.
The memory of warmth becomes real,
I shed my casing without worry.
Treeshallow Musings 