He spent winter days watching snow fall and reading Emily Dickinson. Thoughts of death; now that life had been lived.

Inches turned into feet then a yard. The old man would measure winter’s treasure each day with a wooden stick; standing in the backyard alone; planted there with the first snow fall.

Watched kids sledding on the nearby hill. Saw them building snow men. Carrots used for noses.

The old man waited for the end. But, inevitably, spring would come. Leaving death behind. Snow had disappeared. However, thoughts of Emily remained.