Forest in winter

Ring around the rose | Lily Kolakowski | Stamp art

 FOREST, IN WINTER by Apple Gilmore

Winter comes like a quiet visitor, settling into the forest like it was an old sofa. She brings with her a mist and lets it hang low in the air, covering Earth’s soft floor and leaving only the trees in the moon’s light. The flowers, in protest, decide to close their white petals early, before winter has the chance to take them for herself, and so we must hurry. Our feet patter softly on the forest floor, though the mist hides them from sight. It occurs to me that from afar, we must look like a pair of footless fools, but I do not let the thought linger. The trees seem to grow as we run between them, looming overhead like a disappointed mother. The mist rises as well, almost up to our shoulders now.

“Hurry, hurry,” you whisper to me, and so I do. The flowers rise just above the mist, just above our heads, their silken petals almost glowing in the fog. One by one, they close up as we run past. We weave between the stems, hand in hand, and I follow inside just as the petals fold closed.

We lie in satisfied silence, side by side, on the receptacle. I know we are thinking the same thing.

Winter, wonderful Winter.