Winter.
My winter is June 16th - August 4th.
It's been two years since Judith passed. Died. Since I, in a very real sense, died. I'm a bombed out city. A wasteland. Pick your cliche. Armageddon.
I continue. That's a sort of hope. Everything has fallen away. I am newly made. Raw.
I'm becoming restless. Agitated like new growth cracking the sidewalk. Maybe there's something here. Maybe there's
Spring.
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