The sky ripped open tonight spitting out ice. My plants lie huddled under frost blankets. Dig deep, hang on, the sun will warm you tomorrow; the last remaining small shoots of your legacy will rise again.
From another time I have come to know you. Sorry you can’t stay long. Lifestreaming.
Death is the dimension I do not see but, occasionally, I have glimpsed you on your way to some other place. If we could see the other place, we might not want to stay here but we must; it is our rite of passage, our duty and obligation for life given. We must not opt out before our time. Pay attention. You’ll know when.
The leaves take on iridescence before a storm; faery dust against the black sky. The wind shakes it out and tosses the bits across the pond; skimming light bits. Thoughts of mortality make us keen observers of our surroundings.
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