The first snow of the winter arrived. He looked out at the path and the fields, transformed, covered in a smooth white cowling.
This might be the last time he would see such a sight, the pure untrodden blanket, but he’d thought that every winter for the last decade and still he soldiered on.
Each year the aches and pains returned as the warmth of the summer vanished, the sounds faded as his hearing diminished, the colours dimmed as his eyesight faltered.
Yet he always survived and was always glad to. There was still so much to enjoy in life. His grandchildren for a start. He never thought he would have seen them into their teenage years.
Well, maybe for the last time, he thought, as he set off. In the silence that the snowfall brings he heard that joyous crunch as his foot broke the crisp surface.
He walked steadily along, and even managed a funny, hesitant jog, lifting his old knees up as high as he could to stomp through the deep snow.
He reached the new road, where the cars had already cleared the snow. He turned and looked back down the lane behind him. He smiled at the trail of footprints he had left behind him, the only blemishes on the pristine white floor.
Still able to leave a mark on the world, he thought, with a smile. Christmas would be good this year when all the family came to stay.
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