Now, after a many months I look at the snow like those relatives over-staying their welcome.
Enough already. Spring is finally approaching.
Brown-laced leaves are being forced upward by the long forgotten tulips giving us the image of tiny ballerinas.
The spring breeze runs over our faces as we stand among the returning songbirds.
Another season arrives. We count the seasons by a different standard now, years of loss.
We stand still, hoping for hope.
Like a whisper in the quiet space, our lost children embrace us with a spiritual energy that runs through us like an electrical currant.
“You are doing good, be brave, we are still here and always will be for you.”