watching a grapevine breath. it adds the green leaves on in early spring. they spring to life, from small pink bulbs that set in right after the frigidness of the dark of winter. right after. her first leaves are a dark green, they bleed the new life out.
she takes a breath in and pushes tiny buds out. the smallest of richest grapes begin to show up and you begin to prepare for the harvest.
the breath quickens as the fruits go from green to some darker tones. each one, takes its own journey to ripe. she fans the fire of life with another breath. the true dark of US pops out and you smell her.
she sighs as her fruits begin to drop and be cut. the release of the weight of things, of last spring, she now desires to be free of.
she breaths in again, deeply and her first leaves turn brown. starting at the tip, the chlorophyll races in to the clouds. the yellowing, spotting, a breath to release the past.