It’s almost enough to make you dizzy!
We watched the mists swirl through the branches, waiting for a break in the rain…
trees cry amber tears
as they remember
and hours lost
in the green.
We push open the cracked door, and listen to it complain as rusty hinges bite. The greenhouse is old, dusty; plants are spilling over their baskets reaching for the ground. After a few minutes, I look outside; the sky is gone. So are the hills and the trees, lost in a thick, damp fog.
It’s as though we have skipped a season, time moving faster outside than here with us. But that’s okay: I’m warm, I’m dry, and I’m with you.