Now is the barren season, and it's lasted many winters.
Spring nears. I hear her whisper; her breath warms the earth. The sap flows fast, and we tap trees for syrup.
But I've been disappointed before.
There is a tree on the horizon, its stark beauty unmistakable. The cold silhouette haunts; empty limbs won't ever blossom.
Winter is terrible company, casting shadows and aspersions, daring to hang on as long as death.
Remember spring swaps snow for leaves
Tonight, I will believe.
shared with five minute friday (although it took a bit longer to nail down). prompt: empty