Recollect ….

The first snow, we all remember… But do we recollect the last…? Do we hold it by our palms…? Taste it by our mouth…? By then you’re waiting for Spring. For colour. Weary of the grey, the slow crackle of ice, the caw of the solitary raven, the yeast laden taste of cold bread, the melting of moments under the winter sun. You wait for the buds to push open, the garden to bloom, the butterflies to arrive, the ruins to come alive. The words spoken in praise of December, now float within the oblivion. Some which you turned into book marks, will remain asleep within those wooden shelves, wrapped in the smell of naphthalene balls, twigs of vanilla. Some will drift into the timescape of eternity, sitting awkwardly upon those undefined spaces. The nameless labyrinths, the songless alleys. Will you ever meet her by the peeling of a season, dressed in a new skin? Will you speak in silences when your eyes meet, as familiar strangers…? Will you touch her hands, move your fingers upon her knuckles…? Will you recollect the landscape that you both drew together upon that naked afternoon with broken crayons… The purple sun, the yellow river, the pink moon… ? Or will you walk past each other, and lose yourself within the ghostly crowded streets, without looking back…?