40 tomorrow the man of the house. So east then - on trains through snow, to wander cobbled lanes and warm frozen hands in stone built city pubs.
He is, a little these days, feeling his age. Busy with kids, busy with work, busy with those he loves.
But 40 is young. To a generation who have children late. At 36 I fear not the end of a decade. Babies 5 and 1 - these are our early days.
Yet others grow old. Parents of generations before - some grown weary of this world. Missing those they have loved. Shadows on a wall - an empty chair and all the years before.
I write not to mourn - I am well, I am strong. But I see it all around - autumns and winters and early frost. Life grown old.
To dwell should wear us out. Youth within will help without. So east and north - spring eternal follows frost.
I wish not again to be 21, (perhaps today my husband does).
40 and loved - in health and work. Not at all bad luck... x