This Holly Plant lives just outside my door.

A season in turmoil. The circle gets smaller. Loved ones pass on leaving us behind to sort out the ravages of being. Such loss is soothed only by a long spring. But wounds remain so, as we find a way to live with them.

we are left standing

as december roars on through

this season of life

a little more worn, rumpled

but for this, we are grateful



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