death is upon us
winter is coming
she will sweep in with an icy breeze
spreading her wings over our puny town
she breathes her freezing breath through the streets
she buries us in her snow
slowly we freeze
in spring, nothing will be left
only bones and water's memory
winter's coming on fast-
better chop enough wood.
pluck the last fruits of the harvest-
then say goodnight to the garden,
resting under a blanket of leaves and love.
In the vet's office.
My bunny, sedated.
They are coming soon with the second shot.
She had a good life. I hope she finds peace.
I'm going to miss her so much.
I love you, Whisper. I'm sorry.
Do you think people 100 years ago, in rural Vermont, looked up at the sky, at the milky way, the moon and all the stars? Do you think they marveled at them, and taught their children the constellations?
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