Funny sort of winter we’ve had so far this year, bug. Usually it’s snowed by Halloween, and by November it’s cold as hell and we’re scraping ice off of everything. I’m not complaining mind you. I love the winters here. I love the way the city lights reflect off the snow on the ground, only to rebound from the low hanging clouds and be magnified once again by carpet of fresh snow. The nights seem candlelit, everything somehow softer and orange-y.
This season has been very very different however, and this day it must have been in the seventies. The sun shining , warming us both and lighting up your hair and eyes. The air smelled like it was carrying the promise of spring rather than the quiet of the winter to come. You were being the sweet little boy I love with all my heart, but I could tell the warm day was calling us both for one last afternoon of sun…a gift that we were both eager to take advantage of.
You remain so fearless sometimes, my son. Fearless in the face of things you do not understand. Curious and unafraid and smiling whilst the world goes nuts around you. You leap and run and laugh and constantly remind me that maybe it’s not all as complicated as we adults make it. You bring me back to Earth when my mind sends me drifting in troubles yet to manifest. All I have to do is look at you, and all of a sudden the world is simple once again. If you ever catch me sometimes just looking at you smiling, then drop what I’m doing and join you on the floor with your trains and cars, you’ll know that’s what happened. I may have been wrapped up with all the nonsense I think about nowadays…then I looked at you, and remembered what it was to be here. Now. In the moment.
And for an hour or so, nothing else matters.
It’s getting cold now, the air crisp and brittle. It’s dark when I wake up. Quietly, I get ready for the day, anticipating your smiling face when I go in to wake you. My little Bug, who always smiles when he hears my voice in the morning. Yes, it’s getting cold, and it’s dark when we leave in the morning, dark when I pick you up at night.
But if this dark becomes too much for you, if it ever seems like it’s just too much, and things won’t ever be bright again, I want you to remember this day. The winter day that felt like summer. The way the sun warmed you and the breeze felt like a promise of better things. Remember me picking you up and lifting you high, you with your eyes closed, a smile on your face and heart. Remember you and I sitting on the slide at the park drinking cold juice. Remember and let the world become simple again.
Know that every end is also a beginning of sorts, my boy. The end of one season is the beginning of the next. Let the Wheel come around.
Somewhere out there the first snowflake is waiting to begin its slow fall from the clouds…drifting softly through still air to join us on the ground. Softly, and with all the velocity and grace of heaven.