It snowed the morning she left us.
Not the heavy, bulbous snow to yearn for at
Christmas, but shallow and sparse –
so thin you could walk between it without
being touched.
In the early hours she was as delicate as one
of those flakes…
Delicate, complex; beautiful.
This time there weren’t enough to unite and
take a stand – a vain attempt; a golden slumber;
a last goodbye.

I saw a wren dancing on wooden slats
and thought of her, briefly.
As it flew to some unknown place, I smiled,
knowing she had found a part of our existence
more profound than we could ever imagine.
A place eased from pain and disease,
from watching tears fall from loved ones faces.
A place of warm solitude.
A better place.