empty limbs

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

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