Hope

December was growing colder. The tiny hairs on her skin rose to the fierce winds blowing that night. The chillness tickled her bones. She grasped her coat more tightly around her and started walking faster. Her head tucked down, she was trying to makeout her path in the darkness. The soft rays of the moon provided the main source of illumination. Other than that a couple of decorative round bulbs near the pathway selfishly litup a few inches around them. At a distance, a few human shadows were moving relaxedly. Their hands holding on to lighted cigarettes, those people were in midst of a casual chat. The dots of fire stoodup bright and beautiful against the darkness. As she crossed them, she was wondering within herself. Howcome these people dont feel the coldness? Does that single dot of fire provide enough warmth? One spark against the whole dark chill night. Is that a portrayal of hope?