Icy Hands

      These late autumn mornings leap out with their black cloaks and chilly hands and leave frost on our skin. We are naked, vulnerable animals. We clothe ourselves – we wrap ourselves in stolen hides, gathered fibers, and synthetic threads. They don't warm us, though – no, they only capture the warmth we still have, and ward off the icy hands that come to steal it. Other mammals seek warmth – sunlight or others of their species. But we lie stubbornly in the cold, too convinced that our coats will keep us warm or that our pockets will thaw our hands.

      I wonder if we are afraid to reach out and warm each other, or if we are perhaps not insistent enough in sharing that warmth. I wonder if we are afraid that our friends and compatriots will reject the gesture. Perhaps we are selfish or greedy, basking in the sun during the summer months, but turning inward and holding in heat for ourselves when a chilly breeze blows our way. Other species stay warm when the world turns cold – why not us?