Some people use a calendar
of seasons to mark life;
“The spring we lost our father,”
or “The fall I met my wife.”
The months may be all jumbled,
just a fast-wind tape in play;
but weather frames are milestones
we tick off along the way.
No autumn, spring or summertime
was Emma’s best recall.
She counted years in winters
from the time that she was small.
The year she got her “Flyer”
and slid headfirst in a pine.
That was the winter Grampy died,
when she was almost nine.
Then there was the Christmas
with awakening sweet bliss.
Beneath a sprig of mistletoe
she thrilled with her first kiss.
The time a blizzard trapped them in,
snow-bound with darling Harry.
He crooned, “Wife, we’ll just live on love;”
in nine months came their Mary.
Thanksgiving with Aunt Ruthie
when the turkey caught on fire.
All laughed and said a eulogy
beside the oven pyre.
Last winter at the graveside
Emma stopped her reminiscing.
Harry’s death erased her past;
that center core was missing.
Now as she watched the falling snow
while huddled in a quilt,
Emma couldn’t call up things
on which her life was built.
But Family Bible on her lap
(a leather-bound old tome),
peace came to Emma’s winter world
and warms arms took her home.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.