WORDS DON'T DIE OF COLD

Words don't die of cold they die from a lack of courage Words often perish because of humid weather I once met a word that was like a bright red bird in the swamp along the riverbank in my village I brought it home but as soon as we reached the wooden door-frame it gave me a strangely terrified look and breathed its last After that I started fearing words If I ran into them I beat a hasty retreat if I saw a hairy word dressed in brilliant colours advancing towards me I often simply shut my eyes Slowly after a while I started to enjoy this game One day for no reason at all I hit a beautiful word with a stone while it hid like a snake in a pile of chaff I remember its lovely glittering eyes down to this day With the passage of time my fear has decreased When I encounter words today we always end up asking after each other Now I've come to know many of their hiding-places I've become familiar with many of their varied colours Now I know for instance that the simplest words are brown and beige and the most destructive are pale yellow and pink Most often the words we save for our saddest and heaviest moments are the ones that on the occasions meant for them seem merely obscene And what shall I do now with the fact that I've found perfectly useless words that wear ugly colours and lie discarded in the garbage to be the most trustworthy in my moments of danger It happened just yesterday - half a dozen healthy and attractive words suddenly surrounded me in a dark street I lost my nerve - For a while I stood before them speechless and drenched in sweat Then I ran I'd just lifted my foot in the air when a tiny little word bathed in blood ran up to me out of nowhere panting and said - ‘Come, I'll take you home'