Wandering, 1:2

Shadows on the wall in a cave:
Primal urges that I get when I see your shape in
Shadows on the wall in a cave from
Candles that can't illuminate your face

All I can do is look for you
As I make up you
Cause you're not here, you're just
Up here in Shadows.

The chill stole up from behind him, not unexpected but unwelcome. He nearly shivered as he felt his seat, cold, his feet, cold, his legs and arms and face, cold. He blew into his hands to warm them. He shivered. He was cold and cold was he.

But as cold as he was, he could wait. That was what he had learned in boot camp. That was the only way he had survived: patience. He was glad to be back from Iraq, and since he had come back he hadn't needed to worry about much. Things had been good since his return.

He thought.

The sun was up, and shining. Icicles hanging from the roof shattered the light as it streamed down. Ah the colors. The colors were bright and blinding and surprising. A world of white, colored by the sun, a new world, never before illuminated thus. With the icicles laughing in the sun. Threatening to drop as they dripped.