Presumably, precious cold is
biting the skin off of the Earth.
Theirs, too.
Even the faintest trace of wind
is strong on those rosehips that pierce
the hand.
Holding it out and looking at it
punctured from place to place,
pain that says:
'No, this time is going to be different.'
As one wolf spider, a doting mother, carries its weight
They feel a tinge of regret.
Threefold blossoms - tenfold more than tenfold.
Photo credits: personal archive
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