the silver lining in grey skies

it was truly the very last warm day. there was no doubt no. no hope for another warm, sunny day. what's left are the remains. the cat tried to eat a leaf off the floor last night, tracked in because they're starting to fall. the temperature is too. the dehumidifiers at work are being put away and instead of being happy at having a little less work at closing time, a small sigh escapes you at what it means. last night the darkness took over by 8. no matter how early you start dinner now it'll be dark by the time you finish.

it gets harder. every single year. the loss of walks, of sun, of warm grilling, of the beach. you haven't gotten yet to where your bones hurt but you know it's probably a matter of time. your back hurt much sooner than you thought so maybe they will too. it feels like giving up so much for something you can't control. wake up in the dark, go to bed in the dark, scrape your car in the dark, walk the dog in the dark. you try to console yourself with the fact that last year you had adult snow days, but unless a polar vortex swoops down with record temperatures, it isn't happening, and all the people who died paid for your weekday cuddles.

the only silver lining is why it's harder. it's harder because you are giving up so much. giving up things you never had. a wonderful dog, grilling for two, singing on the beach, walks along the small inland lakes. maybe that's what to focus on. the fact that this only stings more because for once you have things to look forward to when the sun starts peeking out. when winter meant nothing but cold it was bad but it wasn't loss. you can't be sad with nothing to lose. you can't be sad with everything to lose.