And so I return at day’s end before the Sun has set. That lonely little child inside so used to walking through cold late afternoons to soak up the lit playing with shadow. Cold to the bone but thankful. The golden nature of woods along a river in mid-Winter denuded by frost and wind. The dead leaves dry crinkle unavoidable with each step. How many different vistas like islands in becalmed within my past in which I have felt the cheeks of my face gone numb and tingling with that same wind’s breath? The scape of old houses and the ancient bygone worlds that they so perfectly preserve in their persistent presence eve in mind with my slow gait. Yellow brick and rust colors banded and bejeweled in unexpected reflection by nature’s stained glass. This is a timeless zone where each step falls into a previous footstep taken somewhere else somewhere never too far away to the heart. The world reflected in the solitude of these lazy winter progressions down the trunks and limbs of empty suburban street. The afternoon casts its gold freely upon each haphazard treasure passing. Darks and lights blending in a manner that can only bring a sense of peace in an endless sense of same. One that has always been and will remain unchanged far beyond when all this returns to the unimaginable wilds it has ever been. The view from the window over all this same path now sinking slowly into the sleep of fading Sun’s eclipse. My own limbs tingle like cold burned dead leaves. These are special days that only come once. It is my lot in life to be patient for the unexpected gift of possibly an other. And equally perhaps a warm little hand within my own to once again share this.