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Monday, 10 January 2011

A New Season

By Johna Ferguson

Winter crept in last night just like a cat on the hunt and slowly the garden leaves and spent flowers turned black.

The grass became frozen and brittle and the puddles and ponds had a sudden sheen on their lightly frozen surfaces.

All was quiet.

When I awoke in the morning, I couldn’t even see out my window for the moisture on it was like an old person’s skin; wrinkled, cracked and dry.

Even the birds seemed lulled into a special kind of sleep for I heard no chirping or chattering at all.

All was very quiet.

The wind had died down, no banging of bare branches against my window, no howling noise as it found it’s way around uneven sashes.

And the sun was hidden behind clouds so not a ray shone through; it was almost like being suspended in an icy fog.

All was so quiet.

Until I heard my family getting up, the neighbor’s car start and the dog across the street barking at the paper boy passing by on his bike.

Life had again begun, noisy, competing to be heard, a cacophony of sounds, telling me nothing much had changed other than the start of a new season.

All was again normal.

[INVITATION: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Instructions for submitting are here.]

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post


Lovely, Very poetic, but I hope those uneven sashes are only a figure of speech and not indicative of heat dollars flying out the windows.

What a descriptive visual of a winter morning. I'm so glad I don't have to experience one like that now.

I felt cold just reading your essay. You are a wonderful writer.

Beautiful, evocative poem, Johna.I'm one of the few people I know who love winter, although more so now that I don't HAVE to be many places at a specific time, and not at all if it snows a lot.

I love it. The shock of a winter morning and then life goes on. You gave us an interesting pause between the two.

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