Miles to go before

Snow fell today. Not much, just the first flakes, the beginning of the inevitable winter. 

Snow fell today, and I am watching my cat sleep, and I am thinking about death.

My cat, Stella is dying. Not in the "no one gets out of this alive, life is a guaranteed fatal condition" way that we all are. She has cancer. It's untreatable. I am watching her sleep and wanting to cry because while yesterday was a good day, today is not. And the things that the vet told me would happen, the ways I would know this is getting worse, they have been happening this past week.

I know it's the pathetic fallacy, I know it is. An editor would make me change this for the heavy-handedness of it. But it seems like as this year turns and dies, there have been endings everywhere. Too many people I know are saying goodbye.

I could fix this, if it were fiction. There are archetypes and patterns, the seasons turn. There is rebirth and resurrection. Hell, even rock songs wonder if "maybe everything that dies, comes back some day."

I cannot fix life. It is heartbreaking, and is incurable. And beautiful and glorious and the sorrows do not erase the joys at all. 

But the snow fell, and it is cold, and my cat is sleeping.