Counting My Days

The weight of my shoulder rests upon the window pane.  I hold in my hands a fresh cup of coffee and the steam makes quick designs upon the glass.  The glittering snow glides down to it's frozen placement and sparkles it's arrival.  I hear the spinning wheels of the mailman mark his way from top to bottom of our residential home...stopping at each mail box, crunching snow beneath it's weighty figure. 

My eyes squint as the sunset hits and the hues of orange and red add splendor to the winter scene. 

My side gets more heavy as I reminisce of just weeks ago; body sprawled on the driveway, sun on my face, toddler on his bike, perhaps a glass of red wine by my side.  This is no longer, and the melody of that day softly stays and sings within.

Winter covers.  It does not negotiate.  It blankets all the wrong and mistakes made and forgives.  There are days when one feels Winter harbors a grudge against you as your slip, slide, shiver and shake your way through the day.  I try to make peace with it - but maybe like a child who knows she has done wrong in the eyes of the parent, i often steer clear of it's path.

I have experienced 18 winters.  The lack of welcoming in the season should have eased with time and yet, I stand at the window - contemplative and questioning how these following days, weeks and months will be numbered until I am back out in the beauty and warmth of it's melt.

The Majesty of it's white coat is here and should be marveled and revered, from the inside of a warmed pane and coffee in my grip.

Thanks for listening