The Ice Cave
Rigid and cold, I sat in the ice cave, surrounded by crystals; how easily I could see through them, their emptiness, merely reflecting what they were not.
I searched, longing for warmth, longing for substance. In a crevice, I found something, radiant, a burning piece of amber. It wasn’t transparent like the others. It was rich: rich with colour, rich with power.
I sat there and gazed at its beauty — its inner universe of galaxies, of yellows and oranges, bursting within. Something appeared. Slowly, I could see. There I was: happy, bright, glowing, warm.
Enchanted, I wondered if this was my reflection. But the fiery gem darkened and became as cold and blank as the other stones.
Desperately, I ran from rock to rock, cavern to cavern, in search of myself. I thought I was different from those crystal caskets; I thought I had substance.
Wanting to see again, I ventured into forbidden land, beyond the mouth of the ice cave. Outside, bright skies scorched me. Gradually, I tired, until I could no longer walk.
I glanced down and noticed droplets, melting and merging, on the ground before me. I looked into the pool. Sparkling, glowing, refracting colours, I saw myself.
I was beautiful: yellows, blues, greens, and reds. Weakening, I dropped towards my reflection, tears fleeing my seared surface.
Disturbing the charm, agitating the clarity, the final drop rippled the water. Then, I saw that the beauty and colours, were just phantom refractions, from a melting crystal mirror.
