Reconciliation and wrangling trees

That precarious, time consuming chore had been fascinating to witness – at first. It was soothing; borderline captivating to watch her weave those delicate filaments of silk that (over time) unveiled their complex pattern(s) and whimsically appeal. From the sidelines, encouragement was my only emotional tool remaining -- so she toiled alone. A grand plan was carefully laid, affording no expense toward caution. Then…the woodland abomination(s) tore through her labor as rapidly and easily as jagged stone cleaves into a mirror of water. This happened not once, but twice! Grief was harder to swallow in those days – but in the end, her resilience strengthened my broken hope. Together, we drank the bitter ale of disappointment and frustration. She gave life to another creation and my filtered emotions coiled tighter in the black pit within me; they sloshed resentfully, a burning liquid of pure wrath. It rose from belly to throat like acid -- hungry for… Molten irises trace the droplets of water that gleam like tiny hectors along the pure, ivory strands. Brims force an agreeable smile for her sake, "it's beautiful,” the genuine truth. Like the first and second of her craft. I catch sight of that velvet, whiskered muzzle straining forward, reaching to offer/secure comfort – the metallic band along my breast quivers restlessly as the flesh beneath shudders regretfully. Only when she realized the mistake and pulled away did that taunt awareness ease off, "but if this doesn't work," brows constrict – narrowing, creating a gully for wrinkles of inarguable will, "I'm kicking the damn thing to death." That somber regard tugs into a wider, bitter smile…one that revealed my unwillingness to see her toil through this again. Damp, blackened nostrils swell anxiously. The exhaustion of this place was potent and excellent at unpredictability. The air (this time of year) is thick with godforsaken moisture – a downpour of rain continuously dribbles from the chin of heaven in a relentless wave. It was tolerable...same as the desaturated, flat and unappealing light that hung in the atmosphere like fog over water, "and end up floating above the treeline like you?" The gruff edge of my voice softens – it was no secret that her humor kept me sane, "you say true and I say, no thank you."

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