The day afer death

The shroud of Winter has descended on the outdoors and lit up the indoors with its reflection, the grays of the hills sometimes disappearing in the mists and the trees huddled together in their Winter grey attire as if keeping warm until the Spring sunshine will wake them up again. The grasses in next doors 'verandakasse' are golden coloured but not warm, they shiver and sway a Winter dance of icy breezes, stir the air with wafts of bygone perfumes only lying within their fluted souls as memories. Oh my I waxed 'poetic' here what!!!! And yet it has the darkness of death covered beneath the snow and the light if life indoors where the reflection of the whiteness grows on our ceilings and awakes a modicum of warmth in our hearts, and those trees are really looking huddled together, their pencilled scratchings like etchings in the 'picture,' The warmth of the houses pastel tinted in the grey veils of this season and only the memories of the Summer and Autumn heat blushing their coloured cheeks with washes pale. Yes the news of Aslaug was heralded by the falling of the snow, obliterating the colours from our landscape and covering all in its blanket of never-never coming back. I am not moved except when writing things of mourning, death is final, and cannot be undone, and one dwells rather on the positive things in someone's character and lets them rule in the mind, and the sadness is gone, because it no use to anybody is it, it only creates a weight, a ball and chain to drag through the days and that is no way to LIVE. I was happy for my father's death as he suffered so much with his continuous pain, and yet, years later when I broke up with someone I loved, I went to a psychiatrist to try to understand my feelings and they said that there was nothing wrong with me and that I was in mourning!! So I immediately thought of my father, the man in question had felt a little like him and this made me feel that it was my belated feelings of sorrow and mourning for my father who had died over ten years earlier, so there's no accounting for these feelings. The people round a death are those that make those feelings rise up and take hold of one, and when one is not close to them in any way, those feelings stay where they probably should, deep down and close in a lovely warmth of a friendship that in fact never dies, like love. Ann.