The fire pops and hisses sending billows of sparks dancing upward.

Even at my age, I find the impulse to poke and prod the embers irresistible,

believing a fire untouched will never be good enough.

Finally, the waves of heat drive me back into the comforting arms of...

I am alone. The realization hits again with sudden clarity. My children visit only when driven by guilt.

And my grandchildren? Well, they seem distant and uncomfortable on the rare occasions I see them.

No longer a father or grandfather, I am but an obligation and an inconvenience.

My time in the sun has passed to those unwilling to share it.

Oh, I could tell them a thing or two about life, for I've been through it, I have.

They struggle and plod through each day fighting battles already fought.

I've earned a bit of wisdom toiling through the years. Rejoicing at times, weeping at others.

My lessons learned could be theirs, if they would but ask.

A stack of logs sits nearby. The snow clinging to the bark melted long ago into the puddle

slowly spreading across the hearth. I should feed the fire again, but even the thought

of that effort tires me and I remain still, unable to decide whether I am too comfortable

or simply too weary. My thoughts drift until I realize it doesn't really matter.

My dear one has long since departed, leaving me with nothing but memories

of a life overflowing with laughter and love. I smile, as the embrace of the past

warms me in a way this fire never could. Memories. They sustain me

during this loneliness. I knew nothing of emptiness until she was gone.

I choose not to dwell on her sickness or her passing, though her beauty shone through even then.

She was my rock. When others disappointed or failed, she was there. A quick smile or a kind word,

maybe even a well-earned scolding, she knew just what I needed. But it won't be long, for

I feel the weariness in my bones and know I'll be joining her soon.

A haze of grey now covers the coals, masking what warmth yet remains.

The cold creeps in and I remain unwilling--or perhaps unable--to move,

still mesmerized by the faintest signs of life in the dying coals before me.

Time passes. How long I do not know. Life flickers out.