Seasonal Chords

My mother wouldn't meet me at the park that day,
so instead I took the stroll alone. I heard the
falling acoustic leaves whisper near my neck, just behind the ear;
pleading with me to care for them all.

Each sn\ap,
each ruffle,
each subtle crash onto the sleepy earth decayed with the cycle.

Even when all had passed and
the empty skeletal veins were
veiled in white, I caught myself listening to the
weathered chirps of
the deep coal crow. They
pierced my body like Novocain, the snowflakes
drifted with me into a mindless haze.
Yet while trudging through the path I saw to my right,
a fresh single blade of grass
risking the cold dark for light.

My lips had turned blue and worn,
but I wanted my layers to melt. So I titled my head
towards the gods and pleaded for them to
cry spring showers so my
heart could turn velvet again.
I heard the honeybees buzz around the freshly
bloomed petals of lavender hardship. And the
saturated emerald tips of the
many stems to the many branches of the
aging trunk swaying like a
pendulum in the breeze.

Then I cradled with my voice the
fragile whistle of the wind in a mimical tune, but had to
cry out when the dime-sized
blinding amber amongst the blue
beat down too hard. So I
settled in the shade, it was finally time for a rest. But
before I closed my eyes and
before I took my last breath, I heard

a snap,
a ruffle,
and then a subtle crash.

But there I fell asleep against the soft undertone of my comforting, embracive content.

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