The vines know when to let go.
They curl back, patient,
hands empty where fruit once was.
The air hums low
with what used to grow here.
They say the frost is honest …
it never promises spring.
And yet, the roots below
still wait for a warmth
they can almost remember
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 4:34 PM UTC
The vines know when to let go.
They curl back, patient,
hands empty where fruit once was.
The air hums low
with what used to grow here.
They say the frost is honest …
it never promises spring.
And yet, the roots below
still wait for a warmth
they can almost remember