Now That It’s Winter

By Dianne Moritz

Nothing is the same now that it is winter.
We wear our woolen coats, weak defense
against the cold indifference, grow frail.
Promises can’t lure us from games of solitaire.
After years spent busy as ants, we seek
laziness like Aesop’s grasshoppers, warming
ourselves with tea and memories of sunlit
summer days, splashing in the surf, building
sand-castles, sipping lemonade. Wrapped
in towels, we resembled hermit crabs,
questioned where ice disappeared, what
made rain and clouds and babies.

Nothing is the same now that it is winter.
So, we sit in armchairs, waiting for the snow to melt …

––––––––––
“I write to come to terms with aging.” – the writer

4 thoughts on “Now That It’s Winter

  1. This is such a beautiful and sad read. The process of ageing and the acceptance of slowing down is really a brave task. Coming to terms with a different lifestyle, remaining in touch so as to never feel lost. 🙂

    Like

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