Ornamental kale
a bloom not meant for warmth,
not coaxed open by gentle suns
nor persuaded by the ease of spring.
When one speaks of flowers,
they speak of light, of softness,
of beginnings wrapped in gold.
Yet few remember the flowers of winter,
those that bow not to frost,
but are strengthened by it.
I find myself among them.
For it is not in my seasons of comfort
that I am made whole,
but in the hours when the world grows quiet,
when all I have built seems to fall inward
and the cold settles deep within my bones.
There, amid ruin and stillness
my mind is sharpened,
My voice was honest.
Words rise where warmth once failed me,
and sorrow teaches me how to speak.
In the break, I am gathered.
In the winter of my life,
my spirit does not wither,
it flourishes.
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 7:05 PM UTC
Ornamental kale
a bloom not meant for warmth,
not coaxed open by gentle suns
nor persuaded by the ease of spring.
When one speaks of flowers,
they speak of light, of softness,
of beginnings wrapped in gold.
Yet few remember the flowers of winter,
those that bow not to frost,
but are strengthened by it.
I find myself among them.
For it is not in my seasons of comfort
that I am made whole,
but in the hours when the world grows quiet,
when all I have built seems to fall inward
and the cold settles deep within my bones.
There, amid ruin and stillness
my mind is sharpened,
My voice was honest.
Words rise where warmth once failed me,
and sorrow teaches me how to speak.
In the break, I am gathered.
In the winter of my life,
my spirit does not wither,
it flourishes.