Icebound
By reneeJ
It began to snow the morning we lost Beth, as if God tossed white confetti in celebration for her arrival in heaven. The wind blew swift, and the air that rushed in the door with each neighbor who came was Alaska cold. Accross the fields echoed a wailing, howling din through the blur of snow, tempest-tossed, a mimicking of our very beings. "Why?" I'd cried. "She was just thirteen!" Left alone, we were automatons in our grief, as caught in mourning as the water in the pond was trapped in ice. Each day was frozen in our hunger for her, in our remembering. Then nature cast winter aside; the brook traveled with new life, daffodils bloomed. To us this beauty was unjustified, a trick of nature, and we would not partake. There would be other Aprils, other Mays, but we needed to know this winter well, curl up with it in its deepest cave, its darkest cloud, its blackest night, before we could embrace another spring. Written September 29th, 2001 © on Sep 29 2001 03:08 AM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"It began to snow the morning we lost Beth,..."