After the Storm

From Weekend Wordsmith: Ice

He’s coated with ice after our storm; stiff and cold. What did I do to deserve this? Say no once too often? Say yes once too often? To who, to what? To living my life. But I didn’t want or expect this. He won’t speak to me, he won’t touch me, he won’t kiss me, he barely looks at me, he’s rigid and frozen. I’ll have to shine my warmth on him, melt his ice of indifference slowly, bit by bit, until he’s that strong, yet flexible branch that reaches out for me and holds me when I alight; that offers me rest, comfort and support. And my springtime rays will remind him how he also sways freely, blossoms and grows when I am not perched on him. And he will recall how lovely we are together, when he grows and I fly.