“It’s the cold what converts water to ice.” Billie points to the branch where drops of frozen water cling. “The cold claims the water from itself. Turns it hard and swollen.”

“Like Momma’s heart?”

Billie frowns at her granddaughter. “Bitty child oughtn’t worry about the weight of your momma’s heart.” She breaks off a nub of ice. “Press it in your palm. The warmth will melt it.”

Were it so easy to melt the heart of her daughter, the mother of this child standing before her. Is she destined herself to pass time frozen in time? “Press it tight, child.”

This was written for this week’s #100wordchallenge at The Thin Spiral Notebook.