As the cold February wind blew, I somehow knew that you would not be with me when the breeze would once again turn warm with the coming of spring.
I stared at the snow-filled yard, sensing you would not see it melt.
You didn’t.
You left this world on a sullen and dreary day, the darkness of the clouds reflecting the pallor of grief that was engulfing me.
The day after you left I once again gazed at the yard, hot tears staining my cheeks as I focused on the pathways in the snow that I had dug for you.
Each snowflake felt like an icy dagger piercing the remnants of my shattered heart. I would not need to shovel a path for you in this snowfall.
Eventually the snow melted and spring came. I dreaded the annual renewal of life that I normally cherish. For the one with whom I had welcomed seventeen springs was no longer by my side.
As the grass turned green and the flowers came to life, my heart ached for my lost love, wishing we could share the smells and sights of spring together.
Somehow I know that wherever you are, it is eternally the season of life, filled with gentle breezes that carry my love to you.