A short break from Frankie and Joni this week with a revisit to some older drabbles published on my other blog a few years ago. Today we go a bit darker…
The first nip of true cold in the air, a shiver that slowly burrows under the skin and buries itself. That’s when you know. Winter will arrive soon. If you haven’t prepared by then, it’s too late. By that beginning taste of winter, your stores should have been gathered and stocked.
And your final arrangements reviewed and amended if necessary.
Because you never know who’ll die.
Maybe no one, if the winter’s mild. The food will last, and the snow won’t smother. That’s what you hope for. That’s why you pray to the gods.
But sometimes, they want a sacrifice.
The birds are chirping outside the kitchen window these mornings, a sure sign spring is coming. And I saw a crocus poking out its green shoots by the doorstep, so I expect the last of the snow will be melting soon, though it’ll still be winter farther up the mountainside.
Does my heart glad to see the change in season. It’s been a hard winter with my husband gone, even if I’m happy he ain’t around no more.
I just hope I buried the body deep enough. Wouldn’t do to have it popping out of the ground in the thaw.
A sultry wind blows through the cherry trees, rustling the green leaves, and the ripened fruit. Soon it will be time for last harvest, and the leaves will turn to vibrant warm colour. But, for now, the final bit of summer lingers.
These are beautiful moments, this suspended measure between seasons, between the thriving and the waning of nature. You can feel them mesh and merge, separate and struggle, the everlasting war twixt life and death.
No wonder I feel a natural kinship.
I died in this cherry grove. Now, as a wandering ghost, I live here eternally.
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