Journey to the Cemetery

It is a long walk, particularly in the dark.

I had forgotten how long it was, or rather

how long it would be.

The length - or, perhaps, percieved length -

of this walk was not improved by the biting cold

of the November night which crept in with the

white clock of mist. It was a mist that clouded

everything. You think of Spring as the time when

things grow and you think of Autumn as the time

when things die but you are wrong, so terribly, sadly

misinformed.

No, for I find that in this graveyard, in deepest Autumn,

There are more life in me than there has been in a long time

Perhaps it is when I was so close to death that I feel closest to life.