ASHAND SNOW

ASHAND SNOW

The children’s voices fade away behind me. Silence confirms this. My footsteps echo on the path. My feet follow each other like slightly disobedient children. My soul is disobedient too, blooms unexpectedly between rocks, puts forth green tendrils. Honeysuckle soon will send its sickly odour out into the world. Strange this world. Another rather perhaps. But in another we would find the snow. We had another here not long ago; A world of snow where footsteps crossed, recrossed, followed each other disobediently. We do not need a cross of ash to tell us that we are dust. Children confirm this. Snow confirms it. My echoing footsteps too.