Trails hold memories, little invitations to wander.

Grief is not the price of love. Because love has no price.

Beyond the lights, and underneath the noise…

I ran through the forest today and wondered about trees.

I dug my hands Into the same dark soil your strong hands broke open

When we are young we are taught to be kind

I held you frail, fallen fledgling trembling in my palm.

Wherever this is, we’re right in the middle…

I wrote this for my mum last year but it seems somehow more poignant this year.