The gnarled skeletal hands
Turn upward in homage to God.
The searing burn of cold air in lungs,
And the bite of the winter on my skin,
As depression’s waters lap on the shores of my mind.
I turn my gaze outward,
To a world encased by winter.
Enfolded and shrouded in the silence,
That calm acceptance of the end.
The ghosts of the past
Seem to swirl with the snowflakes,
Landing on cheek, eyelash, and hair,
Melting into mournful tears.
Memories flit by on the wind,
This year’s last gasping breath,
The soul is warmed as the body is not.

The year is ended,
Though there is a new birth promised.
The silence of winter
To give way to the singing of spring.
The mourning of an end
Giving way to the celebration
Of a beginning.