And as I type I have the old guy - not Tom - but, Ganesh, is curled within the crook of my arm. It seems this is where all the old ones come. Shadow. Gabby. Ganesh. They first come to sleep at night, and then they come find me here whenever I come to lay down to read or write or rest. Then, I find them here. All the time on the bed. Waiting for me. In the end of days, their lives evolve between the bedroom and the food/water and litter box down the hall. They only go outside occasionally to roll in the sunshine on the patio; and then they go out only when I take them. I have been here before.
But, back to the analogy. Here is my dream.
I found a Heart of a Wizardness website. I liked her feather meditation. I will cocoon and dream of feathers to guide me on my flight. I can be cold. The foliage can be in hibernation and seeding for spring. I will know that this too shall pass. Embrace the magic of this time of year. Embrace the kiss of the North as She sends them to me on Her breezes. To be alive is to feel the cold as well as the heat. To be alive. Alive.