The Killing Frost

Originally Published 10/13/2011

October: grey sky, silver and black clouds, the smell of the lawn, freshly mowed for the last time of the year and brilliant green against the red and gold of the foliage, wood smoke hanging low over the scrub. I walk through the chill, along the rock wall, to the wooden cross that marks your grave. On the other side of the wall is the old hay mower you used to chase when you were young and your life was never going to end. And the apple tree you used to scratch, now the place where you rest. I miss you so much. You left too soon! Left me alone, gasping against the pain and lost, without bearing. And I think of you hourly, desperately wishing I could pet you again, feel your fur, warm from the summer sun, again and play with you in the fresh grass of summer.

And now I’m alone as the killing frost spreads, and the long bitter winter approaches without you. You left too soon…

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