At Winter’s End

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Again and again, the root stretches in cold soil, and emerges to delight in sun. Like a slow river winding across the prairie, she changes and grows. Then again and again, when the light ever slowly wanes, she wonders will my red plumage ever be as beautiful as it is now? Again and again, she eventually lets go of her root-cloak and hangs it upon winter’s door. Her leaf and stem sink into the ground. She rests on a pillow of stars under blankets of snow, and dreams of beginning again.