But that was a long time ago. It was winter now. There were no sounds of life outside. And Chris couldn’t detect any signs of life in his own heart. The world seemed dead to him and he to the world. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the cracks staring back at him, mirroring the foundations of his faith. For some reason, the reminder of the joy he had known as a boy made him weary. Whatever wonder he had experienced in that house a decade earlier was now buried beneath winter’s fury. He felt a deep sense of loss, quieter than words, drier than tears.
