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The Winter of My Life
Winter, you are the last to touch the spirits of old men
The Winter of My Life
You reach a certain age winter is no longer winter, just a harsh reminder of your life and its inevitable fading into the flow of what is next. Winter speaks to me, the end of something, the beginning of something new pushing away the last of the old.
The winters of Cape Cod seem to fight a little harder than others, refusing to leave without one last struggle, this morning a gift of frost on the newly emerging grass, yet spring is demanding to be heard and I feel the brief warmth of weak sun on my face, the birds singing, believing far more strongly than I spring has found our island yet again.
The winter and I have become brothers, the sharing of the end of something, the fading of the colors, the shortened days, the endless feeling it is my time to hide away and sleep. Spring will find me again, not in this life, but in my dreams of a life beyond life.
I will miss the springs here, miss the rush of life as the bunnies scamper under the bushes, the gray squirrels chattering, the cardinals and blue jays dancing amongst the branches, chortles of greetings and endless movement of refreshed life, something I am no longer part of, but still cling to the days that are mine.
Please winter, linger a little while longer for me, you are all I have left. Your brothers and sisters, the eternal seasons of life, vie for their turn to play, but you winter, you are me, you are the last to touch the spirits of old men, when you leave me this time there will not be another spring.
