Today the snow fell.

 

 

The pine trees stood in the silence to catch the falling sky. Two crows watched, unaware or unconcerned. The pines had nowhere else to go. When their limbs grew tired, they laid their burdens down. Snow scattered on the ground, startling the crows.

 

 

The birch trees are bones picked clean by the wind. Summer’s silver leaves lost long ago.

 

 

I have never loved the trees more than now.

 

 

The snow knows something of letting go, words unspoken, worlds lost, vanishing hour by hour. I think a bush grew there; I can’t remember. My familiar path is gone. I am left with only memories.

 

 

The snow knows too much of death to make a sound. It writes without words — shows, but never tells. See, you will not drown in this white flood. Winter stills the water and commands it to sit at her feet. In spring, the water will move again, seeking the earth’s heart, flowing down, down into the River Lethe, drowning all your memories of this world.

 

 

The blue shades grow large. I watch them lumber across the yard into the night.

 

 

I promise myself I will not forget this day.