Collage

I think of pink blossoms on a branch stripped of leaves, the first thing visible through the window with the ancient wooden frame. Of sunshine filtering in through the lattice. I think of a series of closed doors, and a cold stone floor. Of laughter that faded away too soon, of tears that refused, first, to dry, and, later, to stream. Of hopes that knew no limits, of memories that are all that remain. I think of vacant pews, beige pamphlets and flagstone paths. Of yellow Post-Its and enormous armchairs. Of bright yellow flowers growing wild amidst a profusion of weeds, of long walks - sometimes alone, usually lonely. I think of steaming mugs of coffee and endless conversation. Of trudging to the dairy, autumn leaves crunching underfoot. Of hopes renewed, dreams resurrected. Of faith, understanding and belief.

All part of one life.