Winter

“The trees are about to show us how lovely it is to let the dead things go.”

I think about that phrase often, when I’m in my quiet spot in the park. The release of dead thing weighing down, making room for colors in the Spring. For new life, beautiful blooms marking New Beginnings. I think of possibilities anew.

But mostly I think, “they never speak of Winter”.

The long quiet moments left with nothing but the space the Dead Things left behind when you set them free. The agonizing stillness, time refusing to move as you cocoon in the darkness wondering if you will ever see the sun,. If you will ever bloom again.

It is Winter time for me. The Belly of the Beast; the moment before the first blade of grass pokes through the snow, when most folks say “fuck this shit”. The time when you have nothing left to report and your days are an endless slog of dues and your friends stop asking because your answer is always the same. The part of the movie they shorten to a  montage because months of daily training and vomiting bile do not a blockbuster Hero’s Tale make.

They never speak of Winter.

When you have been laid bare; left to weather the harshest of the elements and cannot bear yet another day of waking up to darkness. They do not tell you the final leg of your journey is to be navigated in Darkness; the shortened days make the light at the end of the tunnel shine for too short a time to be a guide.

There is a patch of grass by my tree now, much greener than the rest of the dry earth around it. It must be new here. I look above, I did not notice the branches now bear the fainest beginnings of bulbs. The sun, while low in the sky, peeks just long enough for me to not go home in darkness today.

But still.

They never speak of Winter.

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