Passing Time
A weird thing happened on the way to spring. I took down the Christmas decorations. Packed them all away. The cleaning lady came. Presto. My house went from Christmas bright to being a clean, well lit place, sans the gloom of previous years. Hard to know what to make of it. I suspect the ringing of the bell that tolled for my wife is fading. It’s a low hum now. A ringing in the brain.
Later today, I leave for Houston. My grand daughter runs in her first collegiate meet. It will be a solitary drive to the house of the oldest son, her dad. We’ll sit around tonight and play guitars. Then on Friday we’ll journey to the University of Houston, my alma mater, his for a graduate degree. He was born fifty years ago while I was on campus. He was two months premature. It snowed the night he arrived. He spent 30 days in the neonatal ICU at the old Jeff Davis hospital in Houston. County. I was a poor student on the GI Bill.
This morning there is a cold wind blowing, but not the sad kind, and there is no snow. It’s winter and portends nothing except the passing of the seasons. I’m happy for that. Our back lots and side yard are full of nascent bluebonnets. And the cold will be good for the peach tree. I hope. It’s aging as is it’s owner. Maybe we’re both past our prime. We’ll see when the sun shines. Meanwhile, the gray days are here, and I’ll bundle up and wait along with the tree to see what happens as the days lengthen.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale