Cold Night

He took a walk in the snow to clear his head, for he could not find solace in the warmth of his bed. The thoughts that stirred within were far too heavy to be healed by the crackle and heat of the fire’s blaze.

He needed the crunch of snow beneath his boots, the chill of the wind across his face, and the distant sound of an owl’s cry—haunting, beautiful, like the finest of flutes.

As he walked, it seemed the moonlight split the dark sky like a blade of hope, cutting through the weight he carried. Something awakened in him—something long buried. The frozen night had lit a flame within his soul.

He returned at last to the glow of his little home and lay beneath the covers, no longer seeking warmth from the blankets, but from the spark now kindled in his heart.

Sleep came swiftly—with the promise of many tomorrows and the daring tales they might hold. And the first story his pen would write would be this: how a walk with his Creator on a cold, dark night forever changed his life.