The fall leaves are blown off the trees.
They are like little souls.
They try to hang onto life.
Their umbilical cords dry up.
The wind pummels them.
Finally, they fall to the ground.
This makes me think of my mortality.
The beauty of the fall leads to the bleakness of winter.
Winters here are cold and unmerciful.
So many souls are hanging on in hospitals.
Some of them live in retirement homes.
Most, are going to try to make it through the holidays.
The sick or elderly don't want to die now.
They might ruin everyone's festive fun.
They must hang on, 'til the New Year.
January is a boring month.
It is a cold one here in the midwest.
It's a good time for wakes.
People are paying off their holiday debt.
These winter times are sometimes morose times.
However, there is beauty in the winter nights.
Outside of my warm house, is fresh cold air.
There is the reflection of the moonlight on the snow.
There are glistening icicles.
I gaze in wonderment at big snowflakes.
There is the beauty of dead silence.
Even in death, there is beauty.
Little souls come to rest.
They aren't pummeled anymore.