graveside

The sun reflects off the snow onto the face of my sister standing next to me graveside.

The patterns made on her face by years of life mirror mine.

Around our eyes — and especially —

Our mouths.

Identical, I think —

Even down to the size and location of that blasted age spot on my right cheek I’ve been trying to banish.

It’s as if I see us, today, for the first time — sisters born 14 months apart — me first, her second —

In real time.

Me 49.  Her 48.

Present for a good-bye that strips the last of an entire generation from the picture —

A milestone that makes us — and our contemporaries — realize we’re but one layer away from the finish line.

And I can’t help but thinking — while I still can, it’s time to —

Run!

Run, Julie —

Run!