Grief carves a part of your soul in its passing. The gaping emptiness that fills you after its left. Sweeps silently like wind passing through a leafless tree in the Fall. The only difference their skin bares the truth of what they lost. The labyrinth of a garden was to veil the corpses that it was buried on. & it to dies with winter. How nature teaches us to bear each loss. But is it nature’s order to grow from despair? Maybe I’d spent too much time picking flowers instead of watering them.