so this one is 58 words to make up for yesterday’s 300. It all averages out in the end. 😉

Urge for Going

In December, two days before Christmas, you left me. All that remained was a note. “It’s not you, it’s me. I can’t go on this way.”

It’s May now. My black dress hangs on a frame attenuated. The ground’s thawed. Time for burying winter dead. Grief resurges.

end

Sascha Darlington 4/20/2018

In Rutland, Vermont, like many extremely cold winter places, winter dead are buried in spring after the ground’s thawed, giving the survivor another mourning period.