The Passage Of Time

cookstove410 Clusters of ice hanging on the edge of the roof. Reminders of old man winter with its clutch on us. Frozen lakes with eagles snacking on little morsels left over from the fisherman. Deer tracks left under the apple tree, hunting for any food around. Birdseed all over the ground, birds? I question this. Other animals in the night are finding this birdfeeder a lunch, quick one at that. Filtered light shown today with a gloomy aspect to what winter brings us. Cars moving about, people moving around from place to place, noises of movement are heard in the distance. Smoke bellowing from the chimney’s with the scent of hardwood smoke all around. Everyone is finding a place of shelter, ridding themselves from the cold grip here in New England.

Kids play interrupted by the cold, you must stay inside today, no outside play kids until it warms up. The day has hope, justified as some relief to a few degree of increase from this morning which was in the negative numbers. Rain is expected to arrive later this weekend and outside dwellers will be caught by large amounts of droplets falling from the sky. The rivers are ice covered ,with this large chunks will dam up which could cause the banks to flood. Never and end to old man winter. The struggles are numerous ,dwindling wood supplies, and heating fuel prices on the increase. We have become the bank of the heating suppliers of the world.

I hear a siren in the distance, another one has been taking by the cold. No blankets available because this was the last fuel that person had to keep warm. It has become too much for people to handle. A group of local people will gather tonight at the local church to bring anything that can help the community survive this winter. I have donated my time to help, gathering candles for the elderly and newspapers for fuel. My supplies are getting low and I must go find more food too like the animals. Where is the sun? Only time will dictate the future, I will struggle on with everyone else. I hear another siren, it hurts.
©2014 Dwayne Bilodeau

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