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Winter
by
Jennifer Lambe
A cold damp winter comes every year upon a little girl, who waits,
sitting on a tree branch, leg dangling. Her eyes close and she dreams
that the falling flakes fill the world around her, blinding her from
the reality that she is lost, but still knows the path home. This tree
has been her solitude every winter. Every limb of the tree is an
extension of her self, but the roots cannot be distinguished. She does
not shiver as the wind blows, but welcomes it. Becoming engulfed in
the senses on her skin that cold winters bring, she welcomes the storm
that exists without, but denies the torrent within, for it is easy to
blame a lost path on the elements.
On her skin dance the falling flakes, melting, running from her face
and dripping down to the valley on her chest. The slow numbness that
flows from head to toe is a constant reminder of why she came to this
tree. The little girl has come to this very tree to watch the first
snowfall, to watch the grass become slowly swallowed up by the
blankets of November. As the wind picks up and swirls the flakes more
vigorously, the girl is reminded of homestead obligations, which
suspend her enlightenment. The turmoil spinning inside of her is
echoed in the approaching storm.
The dirt trail that led her to this very tree lies behind her to the
east, beckoning her to come home. The vague footprints begin to look
as though they were deep chasms as they are filled by falling flakes…
creating a treacherous passageway homeward.
She waits, limbs dangling and hopes she might fall, but knows she
cannot will herself to let loose the smallest morsel of control she
still has. As the shoe from her left foot dangles, it draws the
attention away from the cold, and lets veracity slip inside the frozen
girl transiently. As she slips from the frozen extension of her soul
and slides down to the virgin soil ever so slowly, the coarseness of
the bark grazes her tender skin. Only a single drop of blood flows.
One single drop of her soul escapes to find freedom in a frozen world.
Flakes fall slowly as she forces one foot in front of the other,
filling the already gray skies. Winter has come. It has come to rescue
a lost daughter.
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