The world was slipping out of winter’s wrinkled hands, buds stood on tree branches waiting for cloud break.
The sun felt warm but the shadows were frozen.
Some days felt five-thousand hours long.
3pm never close enough to eight where I could have a long ceremonious uninterrupted bath.
A shrinking bee’s wax candle
epsom salts
frozen fruit.
I feel like a mother that just crinkled out of a dry cocoon. Remembering things from lives passed.
The buds start to bloom - a physical representation of the word epiphany.
The last push of a spiritual winter.
The very beginning of something else entirely.
