A singeing cold burned you before I knew it, leaving me rushed to save whatever essence was left of you. The earth saved you, and lo and behold your roots were robust and firm despite the withered tops. Good bye, sweet leaves and flowers that bring me such joy in the spring. Perhaps this year will be better and you will reach your full potential, I will plant you in the Spring before Summer has already blossomed. Oh, the Bishops Children took a beating that way, the bulbs are tiny and fewer; the Cannas and other Dahlias seemed more forgiving.
I made it in time. Sure, there are still leaves to burn, a semi-load of wood to be split to help us survive this winter, but bit by bit I am making wonderful progress in restoring order to my world.
Soon, a sparkle of lights will light my pines through a mystery of snowflakes. The softest rustle making the world clean and bright. The shortest day will come and go, and the light shall return in all its glory to warm the land.
And you will be reborn. Good night, sweethearts, enjoy your rest through the dark and cold, in your carefully labeled bags, written in my son’s still childish scrawl, safe under our home.
Its not so very long a wait.
Life is seasons.