I’m heading into winter now
Not by calendar but geography
Travelling ‘home’ to bury dad
In north Ontario,
His home in north Ontario.

Far from Northumberland 
Where winter is severe enough
Where leaves cling to the lovely tree 
That drooping meets the ground
In crimson drops of sorrow.

The season’s changing fast — 
Weather’s like the generations, so
Each of us is given time.
Sometimes I can see that ours is
Passing too.  Then I might balk and —

Wait a moment.  
We are here now.
Being here, this is still our time.
And soon, as grandsons hope,
There may be snow.
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