Over Malady of Drifts

It’s with a steady passage into lethargy I came to this night.  It’s with the unique loneliness that comes with night and a blizzards face.  The cold sweeps in, the phones are quiet on their hooks.  I crush oranges to make a drink with bitters and bourbon, in hopes the worst will pass beneath the fluttering eyelids of sleeps oncoming embrace.
Intoxicate; find out where the hours go with lack of control.
Why are these nights so often the worst?  Where the house around me doesn’t seem to settle or creak.  It’s quiet and absent, surrounding me.
There are no arms in this place, no embrace.
If I could be again in the canopy of curls falling about me, watching the kind face speaking down to me.
If only.
The night wears on, the quietness never ends.   The blizzard moves in.  I lay back in the cradle of the empty glass and sleep.