If a root is damaged will it ever bloom?

This was an important walk for me, the sky was as dense as my thoughts that followed me, I wish as a shadow but they were just as rooted in me as my feet were in the snow and as deep as the roots of the tree I was gazing at. The warmth of my breath reaches the coldness of the air, they say the two cause thunder, yet as I stand here watching snowflakes weigh down the branches of the tree and I hear… absolutely nothing. As I looked at the tree I thought, winter has cast down on me to. Neither of us want the heaviness and harshness of it, but in life choices are taken from us. If a root is damaged will it ever flower?

With the calm long since gone, the storm seems persistent on burying me. Fire and ice are opposing elements yet they act as one completing a circle like ying-yang. With risk of freezing permanently still, will I ever feel again with this coldness I feel so deep in my heart. Despite this coldness my skin burns, my body flinches at every touch from the rath from what laid dormant, has now exploded raining its ash on its subjects forever freezing them in time, never moving forward.

As the overwhelming loud silence surrounds me a tear falls down my cheek, I feel nothing other than my legs collapse from beneath me. Only the burn from the snow brings me back to consciousness, the burn from which could have been your ash as to me I see no difference. Your eruption has caused what feels like my permanent dormancy, know I’m on both knees weighted down from your ash, completely finished. As the tears stream down my face almost as frozen as the lake adjacent, all I can think is, if my tree ever does flower will it’s fruit be sour? My final question to myself is, what shall the color be, white or grey?

After some time, merciless at my knee’s with my eyes closed, I felt a warmth on my face that ignited a sense of awareness inside me. As I opened my eyes I could see the sun shine through the branches of the tree, the warmth gave me goosebumps and a feeling I hadn’t felt in a while, hope. What a pitiful sight I must be, an injection of thoughts filled my head, beneath the ashes lay fertile soil, underneath the ice is hydrated earth waiting for new life to bloom. Even in the harshest and hardest of conditions life still endures.

So I ask the question again, what shall the color be, white or grey? Should this be a choice! Both rule the sky raining down on below. No… This is a choice I no longer warrant thought as both make me an object to your storm, I will be my own calm and my choice is perseverance. Rather than vengeance birthed from fertile soil with fire only in the eyes and mind, I will wait. Snow doesn’t last forever neither do ash clouds, at some point the sun will make break in the sky melting the snow providing oxygen to the atmosphere that was once suffocated. This time vengeance will only fill my heart and not rule my head, Hera Apios will be proud, as vengeance of the mind only causes fire in the soul producing nothing but anguish and hatred, both distasteful and putrid for regrowth, I would only become what caused this downfall. Clarity and separation will be my fuel, this time I will be the one to bring the light in the sky, I may be frozen but only temporarily as I will not allow my root to be eternally damaged. At sunrise I will rise high every day and cast light through your dense rath, melting the snow and ending the endless suffocation. I am now in control, I will regrow but on my own terms through separation from this place as even tree’s with the deepest of roots can be relocated. Knowing this I’m beginning to regain my shadow and maybe one day in the tropic of Capricorn at solar noon I can be rid of it. But for now the sun will cast its light down on my pear, now unfrozen and ready to part from its branch from the sudden and unexpected winter, I will look down leaving my beautifully putrid pear behind as my roots are to be rooted elsewhere and this time I will bloom.