It
may become dryer and brighter
may get clearer and lighter
but it's still Winter
ya can't fool me.

In the hinterlands where the old man stands eyeing the sky
as he does every day
as if waiting to hear someone say,
'change is on the way'
In reality he's waiting to die and wondering why the sky still looks so blue,when everything is going to turn black,
and his life turns its back,
he is ready,unsteady but it's Winter and he can't complain,
and his companion on the journey explains that it's always this way at the end of one's day when the world turns slate grey before turning black.

In the shifting of hues where the confusion of colours on his palette  run clear,the artist who drew life,draws his last breath,in splashes of light that flash vividly,avidly looking at the mystery unfolding,
he holds onto a fine brush that rushes to paint the morning,even as his hands fade away into the blackness,still wondering
why the sky looks so blue.