It feels like a day to drive to the beach- the sun is high and bright, temperatures rising, and the remnants of winter’s blanket disappearing into the ground along the railroad tracks.
I am dreaming of ocean beaches, rather than mountains, as I drive past the browning grandeur of three ranges overlooking the narrow valley- sand, warmed in the summer sun…wave-driven waters- a chilling cool refreshing and invigorating, and a scene played out before me like an artist’s easel.
Yet it remains winter. And in my shell of a house, the winter-panes evoke images of blowing winter and blustery icy fingers scratching those glass-plates. And I remember, this fleeting moment, this oasis of summer-like sun, will fade with another sunset, and who knows what tomorrow will bring? For winter is as unpredictable as a dementia patient, and no matter how much we feed our dreams with visions of warmth, a winter’s tail will not wag until it’s time, when it wanders off into the sunrise of a warmer day.
