Memoirs of a Life Unlived

Blossom drooping under a hunk of snow: you struggle to recall when it first shot up, filling space with new self; sun-fed, by twilight aglow. Seems it has always been obscured, born into this balance of power, not once felt fresh cells divide, expectant, glorying in growth. Inured, it bears its burden with dispassion. One morning without fanfare the snow cleaves, slides clean off: your need for it to stand erect unlessened.

The steam from your coffee swirls like starlings, adding glamour to your scene: the book that consumes you, laces webbed around your boots, layers of pilled fleeces, that twisted spine. I should want to know your story but time and again I return to the steam.