She sat quietly on the cold ground. It was winter, her favorite season. She loved winter, because it was nature’s time to die and come back to life. Winter was just a phase of transition from before to after. Everything faded away with a silent promise of coming back, more beautiful, more powerful than ever. Flowers would smell better, look more vivid. Trees would wear an even bigger leaves dress. The sun would shine brighter, be warmer. Water would look clearer. In the end, winter definitely upgraded everything. And that is what she liked about it: she didn’t enjoy witnessing the result in summer, but she loved staring at nature for hours in winter, embracing the cycle of life. Someday, somehow, everything dies. But everything eventually comes back to life. She always thought people were wrong to be scared about death. For her, death wasn’t the end. It meant another start, elsewhere.
She stood up. She walked slowly, not really going anywhere. She just wanted to stay out a little more, breathe some fresh air, feel the softness of the sunshine. Even if she wasn’t scared of dying, she didn’t really want it either. She loved her life. A life in which she had always done her best to get what she wanted. She had children, a lover, a nice house in a calm neighborhood. Her life was stable and enjoyable. Most people envied her. Some even thought it was unfair that life was this good to someone. But others realized what her life really was about. You almost never heard her complain. When something didn’t go according to plan, she took it in her stride. She dealt with her obstacles. She always found a way to dodge every bullet that was fired at her.
She sat down again, but this time in the middle of snow. Snow was one more piece in her theory of nature renewing itself during the winter. Snow is white, pure and cold. Snow is like a cloth, a white cloth. Nature sets it on its table, hiding everything during its transition. And when everything is ready to come back again, the sun softly pulls out the cloth, and it is all out in the open again. She gathered a little snow, just enough to make a soft ball. She tried to make it as round as possible, as flawless as possible. When she was pleased by its shape, she threw the snowball, hitting a pine. Some of the snow was still on the tree, while most of it fell back to the ground, where it initially belonged.
She lied in the middle of the snow. She closed her eyes. She knew it was about to come. She felt that it was her time. She wasn’t old, nor was she young. She was in the prime of her life, as people liked to call it. But the disease didn’t wait. It came when it wanted, because it wanted to. It did not discriminate. It didn’t care about your curriculum vitae, nor how many cars you own, or how many digits your bank account displays, if you even own one. Someday, you wake up, and without knowing it crashed on you. Sooner or later you find out. And then starts the countdown. You don’t exactly know when until the very end. But then, she knew. It was her time. But she wasn’t scared of death. She would die during the winter, during nature’s phase of transition. Maybe she wouldn’t grow again like a flower in some weeks. But she didn’t care. Because it was probably fate. It was her fate. And she felt accomplished, she felt like a kid who just succeeded on her first day of school. Finally, she took one last big breath, smiled one last time, and passed away.
During spring, in the middle of a former snow field, grew a magnificent rose.
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