Like the blossoms of those cherry trees we walked under.
I'd walked under them tens of times but...
Anyway.
We were both so in love--
with them.
Funny that you didn't even remember.
Yeah, joy is fleeting.
Like the light shinning crisp and clear on this tree that I watch from my window.
Its massive trunk rises,
from an uncertain earth,
tortured and gnarled.
Silent.
Strong.
Then the limbs--
spreading.
The branches--
rising.
And all those fingers--
reaching.
The light strikes it hard, revealing its shadows and illuminating the life within.
Then it's gone.
