The wind blows in another month. Changes in that wind. Winter knocking at the door. Mornings and evenings spent traveling to and from work in the dark. Dawn and sunset experienced only from behind glass and within a cubicle. Sailboat in for slumber in the slip. I anticipate and dread the drone of the furnace: a constant buzzing reminder of how much I detest the cold. Soon there will be leaden skies, and pale distant suns with little warmth to offer. The summers leaves will dry and gather in corners of the yard and along the park paths. They will crunch noisily under foot as I and Chester walk dim trails. The powdering of those leaves underfoot, the wind in bare branches, and the tinkling of Chesters tags the only sounds wheezing in the forest. The wood stove will cry out each morning and evening to be fed. And when its maw is stuffed, it will crack and ping as the heat builds. Bright colors and shadows will dance about the room in a joyous waltz. I will nightly rest myself beside that stove while winter swirls about, secure that weary bones will be comforted. Yet in the nights deepest stillness, stove will betray me, give up the flames and grow cold, leaving me the dim sleepy choice of rising to feed it or rolling myself in the deepest parts of the covers to try and guard against the penetrating cold. Yes Winter comes to steal my mood. Rushing in, in bluster and Seasonal promise, only to settle across the living with dark cold stillness till life retreats to meager circles.
Posted on: Fri, 01 Nov 2013 10:57:52 +0000
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