Winter

Dark so early. Although the ground may be muddy in spots and the temperature is mild, winter is here. Streets are quieter, more abandoned. Passing nary a walker out in the early night.

I bought this house in the Spring of 1994 and later, in the autumn, my polish grandmother died. She lived in an old house that at "one time" used to be a farm house just over the hill from me. The town grew. I can remember her coming over, the one time she did, and we sat on the front steps and shared a beer. She thought everything here was so cute.

Now her backyard is fenced in by chainlink and home to two rather vicious looking pitbulls. She had the hugest, most beautiful garden. Berries, blossoms, herbs. She was a composter. Now she is.

Walking in the dark, looking into lit windows brings some warmth to me. I can recall all the little old people who lived here or there with yards as tidy as a new travel size sewing kit. They're all gone now and the fifty year olds are sixties and with maybe even a seventy or two thrown in.

There's a funeral home on my route. I'm always nauseated when I think I hear the crematorium running. Or maybe it's the windows shrouded in ivory shears, slightly obscuring the bursting pink toned walls. The 'special' spots lit clustered in the ceiling over what I can only presume to be someone's corpse. Damn, I hope all of that rosey glow makes them actually look better.

Rosy pink cheeks in the cold or in death. Winter is here.