Winter is loathe to let go, as I found when I woke up to the white covered view from my window. I sat, as I often do, with hot coffee in hand, observing the fall of the whirling flakes and meditating on the stark abstraction of winter’s garden.
Winter is loathe to let go, and so are we of our regrets and dreams gone dormant. The soft snow sifts across the windows view, as sand shifts through an hourglass; the hourglass of a lifetime. And as the snow gently covers the deadened growth of last years garden, so time has softened my regrets and buried dreams. Some awaiting time to renew, some lost to the dust of the earth forever.
There is something calming in the light blanketing of late winter’s snowfall, something restful. The trees stand sentry in their solid outlines that tell of seasons come and gone. And as I sit in the warmth of good memories, radiating like the stoked stove in my living room, I am comforted with thoughts of the spring which I know is coming and its secrets of new life under the whited cover of this late winter grasp.
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