in season

Twigs crumbled

Underneath my foot,

Connecting roots from the

Tips of my toes, to

The tiny, emerging

Slices of silver,

Streaking my scalp.

I stopped and

Listened, blanketed

By leaves, and willed

My beating heart

To stop, so suddenly

And shortly, just so I

Could hear the sounds

Surrounding, me and

Feel the sprouting

Crocuses, and hear the moans

Of tired, nesting creatures,

And see the bark of

The rough, rigid trees.

This garden of banal temptation-

Offering me nothing that I haven’t

Seen before- is more alive

When winter is coming,

And more beautiful its

Decaying maquaillage.

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