Winter

Shadows crept across the wall to the east of Leo’s window as what seemed to be millions of birds landed in the beech trees surrounding his home. Leo grabbed his binoculars and headed out the door. He was surprised to see bramblings. Bramblings travel huge distances but it was rare for them to be this far south. Leo was thrilled to identify the birds by the distinctive orange on the breasts of the males in the flock. Planting some of these beech trees when he was a boy had been one of Leo’s happiest times. It seemed fitting that the bramblings had come to winter in these trees in the winter of Leo’s life. 


Most people complain about getting old. Not Leo. He loved being old. Time had changed for him now that he was facing death with certainty. Youth really is wasted on the young Leo thought, but old age is also wasted on the old. Life just seems to be wasted on most people, but not me, no not me. Leo sat down and closed his eyes. The bramblings were singing a scratchy song as they settled in. Leo felt their song hold him close as everything faded.