I feel a longing for the days of old.
The sharp cold dawns of my youth,
Blowing in through the cracks around my windows.
The ice sparkling in the midnight skies.
I miss the smell of a 70’s Ford.
The bark of a log as it is split in the cold,
And its crackle as it warms the house.
And the smell of baking bread lofted into air on the songs of my Mother’s joy.
I miss the sharp joy at the crack of a rifle,
And the grief at the death of one of God’s little ones.
Gathered and prepared in simple respect,
Knowing that all things are subtly connected in life.
I miss the simplicity of that life.
I still catch fading echoes of those halcyon days,
In a stranger’s smile,
Or the sound of children’s laughter on the cold air.
Hidden in the heart of a poorly made snowman.
I am entering the winter of my life,
and I miss the winters of my youth.