I follow the sound shards of her
laughter across the icy stone walk
and over the fence where the sweetbriar
grows in the summer.
I chase the whisper of her mirth
bent sideways on the wind,
a dance of yellow ribbon
winding through the pines.
The echo of joyous spirits fades
in the cherry grove, giving way
to faint winter cries and hearts
exposed by the red peeling bark.
Steps retraced as snow succumbs
to rain, back to the house where
there is fire but no warmth, stained
newspapers which tell nothing new,
the fresh fruit of summer is replaced
with dried peaches and memories
fill the spaces once occupied by
the sounds of her laughter.
Written for Shawna’s Words.