Shh… be quiet. The dark has come by and knocked on the world. Shh every one and every thing. Hush. These days will pass you on by. The world is still and cool, healing itself and all that live on it. When the little boys run in the fields, they’ll show you what they’re made of, courage and love, with strong little legs that carry them through the uncut wheat. In the meadows they pick the crocus flowers nestled in the grass, as they wander farther and farther away. They look back with trepidation, trying to find their path back home. In the hours they ran through the woods, they lost their track, and the dark is coming. The dark is descending through the thick branches of the Jack Pines as they look for their trail of trampled grasses. In the distance they see the smoke from the home chimney. Their hearts swell, and they smile again, proud chubby children’s hands clenched around bundles of crocus flowers. They find a vase, jam the bruised stems inside, counting each one to the ninety-ninth. They carry them gently back to their aging mother for a smile that banishes the darkness and brings in the sun.
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