making fire

Snow has fallen deep and thick and a cutting freeze has set into the earth around my home. I rub my bones together for warmth, for magic, for the spark that hopes. It flies up from my fingers catching the winter sun, one glimmer, a ray. I rub, I hope, I arch and look away from the light that pierces, that takes root in my skull and births a raging ache that curls up from neck into my jaw and weaves behind my left eye. I look out my window for the deer and the fox, for the red bird and the crow, for the rabbit and the coyote. A splay of prints across the white tells a tale without end. I work my magic, I work my magic, I work my magic.