Not Dead?

[Erin Cole]

Damp air still embraces the chill of winter and the only life hearty enough to brave the cold are the crows, swathed in feathers as black as the dress I wore to his funeral.

I don’t count myself as one of the strong, daring the bitter winds to dig in the soil on this particular morning, for I feel as barren as the field across the drive.

“That’s not true,” he says.

“But isn’t it?” I reply; my life as I knew it—as I loved it—had changed forever.

“Changed, like hues on the leaves, but not dead,” Ben says.

“Like you,” I reply, because I can’t help but remind him of the cold reality where my dreams now sleep.

[Laura Smith]

Love the nature imagery. I can feel the cold wind.

[Sandra Davies]

Oh.
'Crows, swathed in f eathers' is masterly. and I ache with sadness

[Teresa]

Knocked the breath right out of me.

[Pamila Payne]

This was so heavy, so immediately, intimately deep. I had a to take a deep breath after reading and let it out slowly.

[Jeanette Cheezum]

I can see her in that black dress. Feel her sadness. Powerful.

[alisa rynay haller]

stunning. When the goosebumps go away I may have a better comment. Wow