Winter’s coming.
I feel it in my bones and my body.
I sense it.  I smell it.  I see it in the mirror.
I stand here now with
My back against the fall.

I stand here with my back against the fall, and
Try to remember all that I have learned.  I
Try to comprehend what happens in the end, and I
Try to pretend that the falling snow will melt,
And that my hair will turn dark again.

The early snows DO melt, for winter is a malicious *******.
A brief hot sun melts and muddies the early snows which
Slosh under my boots and cause me to make a mess on the living room carpet.
I track the mess down the hall, shed my clothes and kick my muddied boots
Into a corner, and
Stand naked in front of the mirror, with
My back against the fall.

I draw a bath of warm memories and
Congratulate myself on the success and excess of an ungrateful life.
I laugh at cold winter outside the window until I realize the birds aren’t singing. Where are the birds?  And the flowers?  And the children playing in the yard?
The mirror, and the window, steam up, and suddenly I can’t remember anything!
I use my palm to rub the steam from the glass and see only leafless trees and the
Icy reality of truth.  I stand, staring, with
My back against the fall.

I dry and dress and know that I must clean the mess I have made on the carpet.
But the carpet is ruined and I roll it up and throw it out only to discover and uncover
The failures and sins of summer.  And I stand with
My back against the fall, and
Then I understand it all!

The leaves will come again in spring, the grass will grow, the birds will sing.
The children once again will play, the sun will drive the cold away!
My sins have been forgiven and forgotten and no one noticed my failures but me.
And as others stand with their back against the fall, I may be a memory,
But I will not be here.  I open the door and step into winter.
PwL 3/20/15