Punxsutawney Phil, reportedly, did not see his shadow on the ground today. Courtesy of an ice storm, however, I did see my reflection.
In the glimmer of the broken glass-like and mosaic pattern deposited on the walkway to my home, I discerned the melancholy state of my being since the longest winter I can remember since 1996.
Besides the cold weather and record snowfalls of that season, I remember losing a dear friend who was still in his mid-forties when brain cancer claimed his life.
So far this winter, in ironic harmony with the harsh elements, the husband of a long and very dear friend succumbed to cancer before the age of 50. As well, a former colleague and friend who broke me into the business that I manage a staff for today died in his mid-fifties while shoveling snow. And there is a good chance that my father, battling his own cancer, won’t make it to the vernal equinox.
I do like to ski. I do enjoy snow tubing. Sometimes, I spontaneously find fun in just throttling up a snow covered hill behind the controls of a 4-wheel drive crossover.
In the recesses of my mind I realize, that in the end, this Arctic shift of cold and power will be the cause of more twisted or broken ankles and dislocated shoulders than of death.
But in the spring, when by the grace of a higher power I am afforded a gaze into a beautiful shoreline sunset, I will remember and wonder of the lives lost rather than the bones broken or of the slopes mastered.
© 2011 Christopher’s Views
