Eggs were hidden. So were you. Tears swelled. Sobs and pleadings were thrown at the sky. I begged for a rebirth, a vision above my head. I saw nothing there, so I looked into the tangled garden. Green was sprouting over the dwindling stems of last year. I found the old vines to be disturbing. I took the honeysuckle plant from our old house. The house we lived in when our bad luck started. The house we lived in when the tree fell on your Grandpa, Frost. I didn't have the honeysuckle with us when Hadley was born. I went back and took it in between my babies. I wish I hadn't taken it now, it feels like I've taken ahold of the kind of bad luck that accompanies a piece of petrified wood when taken from the Petrified Forest. The honeysuckle plant is growing strong. I looked at it and remembered that at the old house we had buried our cat, Pippin underneath it's soil. She was my first pet, I loved her. I took the plant as a way of bringing her spirit back to us. She was beautiful and I won't believe that she would let bad things happen. The vines twisted all around the trellis. I saw coils and braids and strength where the stems bonded together. I saw an umbilical cord. I saw what it could do. I saw the buds of leaves popping out along the nodes of growth. I saw the green, I saw life. And I saw the dryness of death in the old wood. I felt its heart stop, it stayed right where it died and let everything else grow over it. It became a support for the life that was to come. It allowed nature to fashion something beautiful over its memory.
I wonder everyday if you were reborn somewhere else, I wonder if I will meet you someday?
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.
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