The Beckoning Spring
by Geraldine Hartman
The solitude and stillness, at once comforting and disconcerting.
Hints of a breeze.
Thoughts engaging, surfacing memories.
The past, plainly in view and on display.
The chill to the bark and bone.
Reality, brought back.
To the forefront.
Branches of the mind.
Harbingers of haunted dreams.
Times, places, faces.
Best forgotten, never quite complete.
To be alone in this moment.
To seal it, wrap it carefully in a delicate leaf of black lace.
A tear runs down a waiting cheek.
Slips silently to the earth.
Returning to the bark and the branches.
The leaves, still to come.
Yesterday becomes today.
Promises of tomorrow, perhaps.
Renewed hope and letting go.
Life’s lessons, from the tree.
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