The end of the season

It was only when I lay in the park in the heat of the sun that I allowed myself to forget about the winter for the first time.

Above, a cloud hovered as a reminder, blocking out the temporary newness just felt.

It moved on quickly as if sensing an urgency from its subject below.

Before long I sank heavily into the brightness. It made me long for eternity.

But then a warm breeze fed me stale foods from shortening days, when slippery ice and biting winds were every meal.

I rose to the surface at that point as if I had gasped a large breath, drowning and swallowing with the shock of then.

I unlocked my eyes to ground myself, to witness five blackbirds gliding in clear skies. They followed each other with a togetherness I had only just experienced, and I related to their ways for that reason. I suddenly thought that they must've surely known where they were heading.

It all looked so certain, a bit like the end of the season.