In January, I remembered why the winter trees lose their leaves.
They need space to grieve, before they blossom and bloom anew.
The leaves must fall.
The colors must fade.
At times, we need to be acquainted with the grey.
If we don’t sit in the grey,
we wouldn’t appreciate when
little buds of pink
rise alongside the forest green.
We wouldn’t know that
In the waiting
There is newness in the making
In the waiting
There is time to let yourself
Grieve the leaves that were once yours
But now they are gone and one with the ground.
In the waiting
We can break
It may hurt
It very well probably will
Let it hurt.
Let it heal.
We too may feel barren –
A bit weaker
A bit more exposed
And quite unprotected from the sting of the cold without our leaves
Exposed,
Broken,
And weak we may be
But not alone.
The other trees stand with you
With me
In solidarity
Each of us
In our own waiting
Rooting ourselves down deep
so that
We may be able to stand stronger
And a little taller
When the next winter comes to take our leaves
And, in the waiting,
Remember that
Your leaves that fell
Became the very soil
In which
You could root deeper down
And grow into
Let what has hurt
Heal.
Let what has broken
Blossom and bloom
Anew.
