Everything Has Its Season

It is still winter
in my garden
I still find myself
wandering down there
when it is dark and quiet
when it belongs to the night

When the man
who has never
stopped loving me,

not even
when my heart
took one of its
solitary journeys
into the realm
of fantasy
only to return
broken and shattered,

when he has to
leave me
on my own
I can see the
worry and concern
on his kind face
as he reluctantly
slings his laptop bag
over his shoulder
and walks out the door

With his I love you
ringing in my ears,
like the sound of
a moving train
no longer visible,
I know
he will always

He is my safe space
He is my grounding
He is my constant star

Sometimes I forget
he’s there
until he’s not
when a kind of
quiet solitude
descends upon me
in soft waves
not quite melancholy
not quite loneliness

I spend more
sleepless nights
in my winter garden
when my guardian
and protector
is away

It is still cold
My fingers shake
as I smoke the cigarette
I always regret having

Even though
it has been
a relatively
sedate winter
with no snow
and very few storms
with ferocious winds
sweeping off the Channel,
the days are dark
and wet and gloomy
with an occasional
blessing of sun
to remind us
or taunt us

I am still thinking
of my summer roses,
waiting to watch them
bloom again
I will bloom again
with them,
a little too palely
but the tightness
in my chest
will erupt as a tiny
tight bud
and gradually
into a soft blossom

The narcissi will be up
and flowering soon
Their leaves have already
pushed their way stubbornly
through the cold winter earth

Everything has its season
After death comes life
This is as it has always been
long before our brains
learned to grasp tightly
to let go suddenly
of memories
of past seasons

I am waiting
for the age of splendour
to return again

It won’t disappoint me
It never does

Everything has its season


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