Even In April

There’s fresh snow on the aspen and the evergreen, it is a genuine winter scene, light snow falling pretty, richly, steadily, no artificial sounds, no shrill, the silence of winter, in the high mountains, even in April, when down low it is the time of daffodil. I stop, breathe, and let out healing sighs, I close my eyes, think back through all the days and nights, the darks and lights, through all the years, think of all the joys and all the tears, all the way back to 1955, it is enough just to be alive. 

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