I notice, in the heartbreak of a mid-March snow, the blue hue that tinges even the smallest flake. And I lament the purposelessness of the now snapped lilac, broken before blooming — what Spring will never bring again under the weight of blue and heldwater. Would I prefer some other outcome than the black shovel and the burning back and the gravel scratch on the driveway? Would I prefer some permanence that would be Spring? Or would I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility that existence has its own reason for being, whether it be toil, Winter or blue wonder?
Written for the d’Verse prompt: “Prosery: Possibilites” utilizing a line from Wislawa Szymborska’s poem “Possibilities”. https://dversepoets.com/2021/03/15/prosery-possibilities/