As bland as the snow-covered lawn I stare wishing I were as resilient as the scraggly blades of grass refusing to hide their presence under the act of God.
And I stare because I cannot feel who I am today.
The withering bush gives me no hope nor the single starving starling peck peck pecking at the hardened crust to find a meal.
And I stare at the absence of humanity and uncourageous spirits who hide indoors resigned to take this cold, harsh beating without a fight.
And I stare into a bank of whiteness becoming blind with indescription and anger wishing we could build snowmen again.
And I stare until this sheet of ice becomes the blanket of false snowfalls on the living room table nestled artfully beneath the Christmas village.
We construct happy winter cities of Victorian memories that we never had with pristine houses and carolers and sledders taken out of boxes all perfect and smiling...
if only... if only... if only... I could take him out of his box and set him here....
And I stare at the absence of humanity...
praying I will have the strength of a blade of grass.
I am struggling to take down the Christmas tree, his memorial tree, of his colors and familiarities, the only tree in the only year of his death. When I take it down it is done...and 7 weeks until the first anniversary of his death. I pray to grow above the storm and the act of God....