Cold air swirled about the near-silent darkness as the moonlight fell through a bare glaze frame near my blanketed feet. Ghostly whiffs of your sausage gravy and biscuits teased me for a while as I laid on your side of the bed while staring out our big window watching giant snowflakes crash into our frost-covered landscape. It’s almost hypnotic and at times, I admit I get lost within it all.
I finally talked myself into getting up to light a fire and make coffee and write you during my ritual mornings. No- don’t worry, I took time yesterday to cover all your flower and vegetable beds. After all these years here, I had an inkling winter would be coming early. I still recall how much effort you used to fuss over them like dependent children. Sometimes I can almost hear their sad mummers in the summer breezes while I rock away sleepy sunsets, all part of our life here simply missing you dearly. I know, it’s no one’s fault and part of God’s plan.
Got our first snow of the season early this morning. Not sure it helped much if any overnight where those firefighters have been all week, over there on Anderson Gulch. Word was everyone was evacuated in time. The animals were all taken to farmland nearby. They’re mountain people like us. Even if they lost their barns and house, they’ll dig in and rebuild their lives as if nothing happened. So long as they have each other, just like we did after our first long winter. Strange how when one of us felt like packing and heading back to the plains and towns, the other one of us would inspire strength and keep us resolved to see our dream here through, together. It’s really one of the best things I miss about you, your delicate voice, like a signature song to my heart.
Well- as you know by now, winter is well on its way, and I must head out and split more firewood. Dawn is about to peek, and you loved how I enjoyed watching her splendor spilling over our summit, along with her warm glow touching me. That and how she’ll always remind me… of you.