It is time now to lay down your petals.
Their riotous colors and intoxicating scent
have drawn the bees to dine on nectar,
and spread afar sticky grains of pollen.
Your job here is done.
But herein lies no cause for sorrow.
Death of fragile blossoms is certain
from the moment they emerge,
bursting out of tightly bound buds,
bringing splendor to winter-worn soil.
From your sacrifice new hope evolves,
as tiny seeds replace the flowers,
fertile and ripe with the possibility of life,
scattered by the wind to await awakening,
and bloom once more in glorious Spring.
Winter’s icy fingers are clawing at the door,
ripping leaves from their branches,
stripping trees bare, like bones in the desert.
Summer’s flowers are forgotten now,
apples lie rotten on the ground,
cloaked in frost sparkling in the moonlight.
Time now for slumber, until Spring awakens.
Sunlight leaking through
the nearly closed blinds,
falls in slanted stripes
of darkness and light
across your face.
My finger presses softly,
the shutter snaps.
Years pass, then flipping
through the maze of pixels
frozen into images on my phone,
there you are, face still slashed
by light and shadow, as if divided
between the demonic and divine.
A truer portrait I never captured.