A Pro-em

Knuckles turn unnaturally pale
as the girl held on for dear life
to her life, the grip becoming
more and more death like.
The winds of blustery autumn
were playing at her hair, gusting,
waiting patiently to whisk her away
along the way she was supposed to go.

But it was too hard, too frightening.
Who knew which way the wind would blow,
which way the Spirit would lead, she repeated
over and over to herself and held on tighter.

Little girl, let go. The winds may bring you
tears or joy, but it is right and it is life.
Breath in the crisp air and let it catch your breath.
Blink as pellets of rain dash against your face,
but don’t forget to dance among them.
Don’t be frightened by the now bare branches,
casting shadows on the sidewalk as you pass
in the early night;
they are not reaching out to grab you.
The arms are raised in praise,
amidst their barrenness waiting for the hope of
a new birth, a new Spring.

Little girl, join the chorus, raise your hands and dance.

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