What The Heart Might Say

A compass is made of metal, sits in your hand, cold and steely, but can be counted on to point north despite wind and weather. It might shake a bit when you spin it, but its little hand points its way back to the pole with certainty.

Your heart should guide you equally well, but you can not hold it in your hand. In fact, you loan it to others to hold and hope they handle it with care. Waking at dawn, all your hopes and fears and many dreams are there in bed all around you, with your heart making every attempt to find direction.

The heart, with its tiny cupid arrow pointing one way or another, a sometimes unreliable, but often dead-on instrument, might say any number of things. It will tease you north, but maybe south, until you decide upon a path. And you might bet your whole life on the red thing. People do it every day. And I hear they win big.