that hour.
on the long path to spring,
when darkness clears
and the trees drop their skeletal shadows in the snow
like a bad memory,
like baggage one no longer needs
to carry.
when the frost glistens with a gazillion different suns
in a myriad different eyes
and the crows’ croaking falls
silent
silent…
that hour.
like a letter from someone you love,
a letter you never thought
was coming.
when you
leave your shadows behind
and walk into the light.
that hour.
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