she knows that life is a story playing itself out as time ticks by. she knows that, as the air passes in and out of her lungs, she is a story. her's is the story of endurance, the story of weathering, of breaking down but never being broken. her story is a tale of survival, of hunkering down, of letting it pass - a story where the happy ending is breathing. she has been a passive character in this story for so long and she wonders if she has missed something.
her eyes are open and her mind is full of questions. she can't whisper these questions any longer. she raises her head toward the sky. the sky parts the clouds and peaks at her from beneath their cover. the sky says nothing to her, though she feels she has been speaking to it for so long. "she can't reach for you any longer" she tells the blue silence above her. if it were not for her need to go, to commence, to continue and survive, she might cry - there is no time for tears to be shed in the wake of the sky's silence. she feels there is so little time.
"Where does she go"? another question, and her mind whirls as her questions pull her from her work, from her survival and the biology that compels her. "what is next"?
the wind shudders as it moves between the trees, and this is her answer. "can you hear her?" she asks the trees as their limbs stretch upwards, branches like fingers splayed - waking slowly from their own winter long dreams their roots in the earth ever changing, ever growing.
"are you listening?" she asks again in a voice more practiced than before. the wind glides over her brushing against her as if they are dear friends, and she feels certain that the trees are breathing. there is air in her lungs and the earth beneath her, she is the same as the day before but in this moment she feels alive.
...she speaks to the trees.
