Frozen

Holding hands they walk down a sloping empty street. Darkness has already fallen. A few lampposts shed a pale yellow light over the pavement. Their bodies are close enough to cast a unique roundish intimate shadow. The icy waters of the scattered pools of rain is a pointless reminder of the routine harsh winters they have become so much used to. A large collection of winters in a most remote northern town, their life a comprehensive treatise on cold. Their walk is slow, their movement a rustle like waves gently shushing, their breathing instantly turning into brief clouds of moisture.

A prominent large fir tree in isolation signals the end of the street. Beyond the tree a vast expanse of frozen land spreads endlessly.

They reach the boundary and pause to look into each other's eyes. It is a long pause and a long gaze, it is also a customary practice. Standing in the cold they keep their focus on the gaze, stretching it effortlessly.  Their stare is uninterrupted. The action does not trouble them. Their eyes do not blink. The gaze is itself the goal. Slowly they feel the ongoing circumstances evolving, something giving way within, altering their defining realities. Intent stares allowing for little excursions into their very souls, driving outcomes consistently confusing to both of them.