Are winter-bare trees, rooted in the grey sky…

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.