Like the rhythm of the pitter patter of toddler feet.
The Run. The Day. The Loss. The Path I Chose.
A wedge in place to drive across the log a great divide.
The canyon – the wedge – it went along an unanticipated path.
Shockingly it spread like lightening across the sky as the axe fell.
The thunder stolen. My light. My moment. My joy.
Pockets full of words brought from winter to spring. It’s time to change the seasons.
Put the tree and the clover into their designated boxes.
Soaking in a refreshing pool of water did not hide the tears.
Shedding off the burden like a fluffy winter sweater. It’s spring.
I placed the crocus behind my ear and it crumbled. I watched it in full bloom wither to flatness- depleted of its resources.
There’s too much light in here now… too much to steal. I’ve been sun kissed.
It stings a little, but maybe a little proclaiming is better than blaming seasons nonetheless.