what does a moth taste like?

flowers

Loving, 
through the seasons,
in the rain & snow,
Loving, 
in the old ways.

✧ ✧ ✧

When we walked down to the icy river, we loved her as much as we did in the summer, naked and sweating with our children splashing in the shallow pools.

When our breath was crystallized mid-air before the mountain, snow creeping into our socks and boots, we loved that mountain then, as much as we loved her when she was abloom with wildflowers, yellow, pink and purple.

When we walked beneath the barren trees, beneath the greying sky, and crunched the crispy leaves with each step, we loved those trees then, as much as we did when they were fluffy with leaves, golden green and yellow, singing in the wind.

Loving in the old ways, in the ways of sprout, bloom and seed; in the ways of flower, fruit, perfume; loving in the old ways, in the ways of death and decay; in the fading away; in the fat and in the famished; in the seasons of living and and in the seasons dying. Loving in the old ways, in the shades and climates between conception and carcass, dream and our inevitable grieving giveaway.

Flowers. Fade. With Grace.

May love, like that, Be.

✧ ✧ ✧