Hear him now: "Attack it, son. Get out there and attack it."
That is how he dealt with things. When he was crowded by darkness, he lashed out with his terrible flames, dispelling the shadows, causing them to flee to the corners of his awareness. But when his fury subsided, they always returned. Despite his larger-than-life personality, his dazzle, his charm, he was yet an angst-ridden man, haunted by doubt.
Terrible ghosts followed him all the way to his grave. They linger yet, haunting me and the others he left behind.
But he wrote his own last chapter, these 10 years gone. The epilogue is for me.
The best times were when we laughed, when we traded jokes between us that no one else would understand. When we were invested by the good old nature, by the good old humor.
Come then, winter.
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