Thematic Photographic 119: Turning Colder

The shortest day of the year, at our beach:

Mid-winter's day: June 21 2008

You died on October 16, 2008. Two years ago today.

I  have wanted to write about it, to write a poem for you, but I cannot.  The words that have been swirling in my head since then will not come to rest.  They crash and ricochet off each other, and are not still.

You have gone, into the dark privacy of death.

Storm Warning

Some lines from Funeral Blues, by W. H. Auden:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

...
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

Mt Taranaki, New Zealand

I hate the cold.