This morning was dead calm and very cold. When I looked down on northern end of the city, there were pillars of steam rising from every building, climbing in straight lines to the morning sky.
The view was beautifully “Dickens” and it made me feel sad in a weird kind of way. I thought of the morning as holding the last real cold of this winter. It was the grand finale of another season. It was winter saying, “I’m not so bad and you might even miss me a little when I am gone.”
When I drove up along the river, wisps of mist were dancing along the skim ice. The occupants of cars, their lives driving them to the places the needed to go, passed me while they stared straight ahead with blank faces. They looked comatose, oblivious to the beauty of winter’s last gasp.
Why should I be sad on such a beautiful morning? It was bitter cold and the mornings will be warmer from now on. Spring will be here soon and today was Friday. These are things to be happy about.
But why wouldn’t I be sad? Today was the 29th in February, the passing of another day, another month, another season and another four years. I might not ever see things again like I saw them this morning. Today, like every other, was a day that only comes once in a lifetime, never to come again.
I'll leave it feeling content to have noticed enough to be sad about its passing.
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