Moonlight at Midnight

There was once a man who lived in a small cabin at the edge of a great forest.

The cabin held back summer storms, and its fire was warming in the winter cold.
Anyone watching would have said he had a good life.

But a good life isn’t the same as peace.

Every night at midnight, he left the warmth behind.

One night when the moon was high, and the snow crunched under his boots, he closed the door behind him.

The forest welcomed him as it always had. Its branches, heavy with snow, leaned close as if listening.

In earlier years, he brought his dreams with him.

Now he brings replays.

He walked deeper among the trees, turning over hatred and anger.

And somewhere between one step and the next, he whispered aloud,

“I am anger.”

The words hung in the frozen air.

Frightened by what he just named himself, the man began to walk faster, trying to outrun the name before it stuck to him like glue.

As he ran, something fragile slipped out.
“God… please help me.”

But he didn’t want to take it back.

At last, he reached a place where the trees thinned and opened into a wide clearing. No one had walked there. The snow lay smooth and untouched. Moonlight scattered across it, and every crystal seemed to shine.

The man stepped into the clearing.
Nothing moved.
The cold filled his lungs.

He stood still.

He spoke again, with intention this time.

“God. Please help me.”

As the noise fell away, something solid awakened in him.

“You are not anger.”

Midnight was still midnight.
The moon didn’t change.
The cold remained.

But the man remembered something he had forgotten:

Snow may fall through the night, but morning still knows the land.

And though anger had frozen his thoughts for a time,
it was never his name.

A tear fell.

And he returned to his cabin with a new peace in his heart:

And that was enough to begin again.