Looking out my kitchen window, you'll see my backyard. The actual image of my backyard is very different than what I envision it will look like one day. Right now, the trees are bare; stark, dark, haunted. Patches of mud peek through the snow, which is supposed to fall in excess today of 15 inches. I long for the snow; it's magic will cover the desolation of my view and drape it in a wonderland of new.
I equate my backyard to the emptiness I feel inside as of late - stark, dark, haunted. Like a tree in the winter, just waiting for spring, not knowing when it's rebirth will be allowed to take place. Just waiting, yet hesitant to anticipate what this new season will bring. Like a late blizzard swooping in to stomp on the dreams of the tree waiting for spring, I also do not know when this heaviness inside will subside and allow my own self to bloom.
But also like the tree, I have learned patience. I still have a purpose, just like the tree in the winter. We carry on, the tree and me, and wait for what we know will come eventually.
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