Revival

As a young teen I recall an 8^th grade snow-

day off from school. And with shovel in

hand, bundled up from head to toe against

the cold, I went knocking on neighborhood

doors.

Mrs. Cox, would you like your sidewalk

and driveway shoveled? Sixty-years later,

and to this day, I have these vivid memories

of what my life was like back then.

Today, I am of an age where I have come to

realize that for the dead, winter never ends.

All memories of what was lie frozen numb

for all time in the endless abyss of eternity.

How is it then, so much closer to the end, the

essence of my being continues on? Memories

serve me well. They help keep the spirit alive.

It may seem inconsequential or even silly to

some, but it is with the simple-seeming in

remembering, I cherish the conscious and

tactile signs of life.

And as I approach the desensitized wasteland of

my enevitable demise, I can still feel the warmth

of those two quarters which Mrs. Cox so long ago

carefully pressed into the frigid cold of my glove-

less hands. And once again, I am revived.

Chris Hanch 6-30-19