On Grieving

 

Winter is cold and harsh

Darkness creeps

A slow invasion

minute by minute

until no light

no hope

no warmth remains.

Icy winds buffet and crash

like a thousand crystal daggers

The air is heavy

A frigid burden

On desperate lungs.

Breathing becomes laboured

So vital

And yet

So painful

Against warm delicate

Flesh that seeks water and

warmth

But finds only bitter cold

And a dry brittle

longing

For something that already

In the passage of a few short weeks

Seems like a dream of

light

and sunshine

In a place that never was

And never will be again.

But there lies deep

within frozen ground

A tiny fragile

seed

It cradles within its delicate husk

The last gentle rays

of summer warmth

and light

remembered deep within

waiting

To be nurtured and caressed

Stroked back to life

by the warmth of a thousand

insignificant gifts of hope:

The distant warmth of the winter sun

Fractured by tiny shards of

ice

The heat of the earth

stoked

Under a thick blanket of

snow

The trickle of winter water

A slow mist

that finds heat

as it descends

into the cold dark ground

To lay gently

lightly

A melody long forgotten

in the silent

quiet

A soft bed

of promise

to what lies beneath.

The seed waits

covered

lost

alone

Until the day it cracks

wide open

and…

                 Lives.

 

The snow 

and icy winds

remain

For many more days and

weeks to come

But their grasp is lessened

with each passing minute

The sun rises higher

Warming all that it sees

A slow

inexorable

At times

improbable

return of things

green

lush

abundant

and to

            living…

                           at last….

                                             in the light.