And Then She Was Gone
Published in
Jan 22, 2022
I think I first thought of her as a flower.
She was bright. Cheerful.
We ran through the prairie grass together.
Yet she stood out from the rest.
At some point she became woody. Solid.
I leaned on her strength.
Large branches overhead.
I was safe below.
One day she was gone.
The golden sun shined impossibly through my childhood window.
She was a flower outside in the breeze.
A haphazard traveler walked by and plucked her from the soil.
Or, rather, the wind pushed her over.
Long limbs penetrating the soil. Trying for stability.
Most of the leaves have shriveled.
But I still touch the bark gently.
Her roots are exposed.
Branches rotting with haste.
I know the last leaf will fall soon.
And then she was gone.
