Brutal arctic winds buffeted her, until she bent and was bruised under heavy snow.
Bewildering thaws breathed a lie of Spring’s arrival and gave her false hope.
Her weary arms lifted, then extended in anticipation towards the warmth of the sun’s rays, longing to touch... to be felt.
But Winter’s blast returned in earnest and bit at her cheeks and fingers once more.
Arms fell. Eyes downcast. Head bowed low.
Knives of ice pierced through to the tender heart beneath.
There, under that cruel hand, she relinquished her weak hold.
And let go.
*****
It is said that unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it will be just one, alone. And it will end alone.
However, if that seed had fallen to the ground and died, it would have produced a bountiful harvest.
Why, then, cling with such tenacity to what will leave you alone?
Why?
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