NEW YEAR'S COMPANY

The only sound that my boots make
is "Squish" in the rain soaked leaves
as once more I choose to forsake
warm hearth and dry protective eave
while seeking closure for the year.

Overhead the sky is gray
and its clouds drop a chill rain on me.
The bare limbs barely even sway
so I move beneath a cedar tree
near a rub left by some old buck deer.

For now my boots keep my feet dry.
My hat and coat repel the rain.
I inhale then breath out a long sigh
as knees send their familiar pain.
A desultory squirrel barks near.

They say this rain might turn to snow.
I know it's almost cold enough;
ice edges the spring down below
either way this weather's pretty rough
as evening gloam is drawing near.

I survey a saturated land
and listen to the raindrops fall,
the backbeat for this chill day's band
playing at a wet new year's ball.
My hand wipes away an errant tear.

For alone is fine if its by choice
but choice has been removed for me.
Death has silenced the last voice
of my last sylvan company
and it won't be replaced I fear.