Winter’s End

Flash prose

Winter has settled into me like fallen leaves into mud. My skin is cracked and dry as old tree bark, ideas hang like deadwood from moss-covered ears. Eyelids droop, heavy with sap, dreams of the old year sloughed and shed but not yet composted. Low white light penetrates the grey veil where clouds of static hover over winter-tired eyes. The snowdrops are out under the oak tree, trembling in the slightest breeze, as though they did not have the force of a wild hurricane pushing up underneath them — but I am content. I watch the birds as they peck and forage among unraked leaves: plans lie dormant, embryonic in seed cases where my heart lies buried under layers of decaying matter.

Thank you for reading 🤎My book of poetry, The Honey in the Bones, is available here. You can also connect with me on facebook or on my website.