Tales of Seasons
Your scent was of woodsmoke on a summers breeze. That of a freshly tilled garden and of the earth after a short rain.
It wrapped its strong arms around me, said to breath deeply and as I did my heels burrowed into the land I stood upon.
From that moment on I rejoiced as I held fast against storms and their might. I could not be moved, I would not yield, I did not tremble.
I could not be moved. I could not move. The earth was not caressing my body, but crushing it beneath heavy footfalls. This was not power nor a mighty anchor, but a weight disguised as a stepping stone.
I could not reach for the embrace of my summer wind, it races away from me and leaves behind winters chill. I am withering without that radiance, I am nothing without you. I can grant you no forgiveness for the way you’ve left me bare to the elements.
Yet then you return, and in desperation I forget my resistance and collapse into your awaiting arms. Maybe it was not as cold as I remember. Perhaps you’re right, my fragile thoughts are not so trustworthy as your smile.
