The Burning Cold - Part 4

My Dearest Love,

I wonder what you make of all this. This is making the huge assumption that you have any cares about the trivialities of our lives. I hope that you are far beyond this now, that we are but ripples in the stream to you, or whispers of a breeze on a summer's day. To me however, this is all too real. And all too foolish.

If you were one of the Greek deities, an immortal who actually meddled in the affairs of humans, you would, by now, have sent a few lightening bolts down to a couple of vexing people, myself included I am ashamed to say.

We have made a sad hash of this. That it happened at all is a testament to our fall. That we have not resolved it reminds me daily of how sadly we have behaved.

I wish that I could say that we have fixed this rift, this tear in the family fabric, but we have not. An olive branch was extended to your youngest sister, a flag of parley waved. She was willing she said, but your other sister wanted to come too.

Well, sorry, but I can only take on one of your sisters at a time. Two on one would be a bad decision on my part. Your blood line produced strong women. Of all, you were the strongest and I fear that without your presence, the remaining drift rudderless on a sea of loss and longing.

So, we wait. For what, I am not sure. On my end, I hope for reason, for cool heads and reflection. What they hope for I do not know.

What I do know is that for all of the need I have to try to resolve this, I am very afraid of "pushing". This is dangerous country and I would rather sit and stew a little rather than make a mis-step that will put me in the quicksand.

I wish I had better things to say to you. This is not the letter I wish to write.

P.