Sure, we had a habit of holding. All of us did. The sudden beauties we couldn’t keep from loving kept on doing what sudden beauties do. Don’t go, we said, but the plea sounded tinny in our ears. What resonated was the departure itself. We looked from a cliff, and with colors slanting words from us, we were gone before we left. Someone at the end of the horizon kept pulling back the sun. We had the sense of being the butt of the joke in this ritual play. The laughter was gentle, but we felt that it was something else, too. Sometimes.
In your image: Hopefully that’s the Atlantic and those birds are flying NORTH. I need signs of spring.
I feel you, Jeff! I noticed this season evoked a more than usual sense of that sort of feeling, among almost everyone I know : )
So many layers to your words … yummy
Amaya, thank you : )