She walks through mornings thick with fog,
scanning the horizon for a crack of light,
a reason to believe the sun will rise again.
In the quiet, she listens to the pulse of the earth,
the imaginary sound of seeds pressing up through soil,
the whisper of leaves daring to unfurl in the morning sun.
She wonders what gives them the will to grow
from this dark, unforgiving ground.
The first colors of dawn appear,
and somewhere in her chest a faint warmth stirs,
a lilac blooming after a long dormant winter,
like a gentle voice reminding her that maybe
there is still a place for hope.
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