Even then, in the color of spring, the color of hope, your hand, precious keeper of my heart and breath, reaches out. Nothing is lost.
I will not dread the dormancy of winter. I will not live for spring. I will not get distracted by summer. I will not feel cheated by fall. It is simply a dance, a dervish without a beginning and without an end. Timeless. Growth. Deepening roots and your hand upheld asking through each stage, each dance, "Do you see? Do you understand? I am here. I will catch you. Just dance."
