Seasons of the Heart

In the garden of life, where the soil of our souls is tilled, there stands a tree, strong and resilient. Its branches reach out, intertwining with those of others, forming bonds that hold fast through storms and sunny days alike.

Among these branches was one that belonged to a friend, a mentor whose roots run deep, though one limb had been tenderly carved away. She taught me the dance of perseverance, the rhythm of a heart that beats with purpose, even when parts of us are missing.

As time passed, the winds of change whispered through the leaves, and our branches began to sway in different directions. The tree that once stood united found itself pruned by the hands of fate, each snip and cut reshaping the silhouette against the sky.

Old friends, like leaves in autumn, drifted away on the breeze. Their colors, once vibrant, now memories in the hues of sepia and gold. And there was him, a branch that once grew close to mine, now a tale of love’s complexity, a story of what could have been but never was.

We parted ways, not with the harsh snap of a bough, but with the gentle release of two leaves letting go, floating towards its next adventure. Our many attempts at an unbreakable bond was just: but a bloom that never quite reached fruition, in the beginning was a chapter closed with mutual respect and affection. Reopened many times always leading to chaos and pain. Until it could not go on and had to be severed completely.

The garden grew quiet, and I found myself alone amidst the rustling whispers of growth. The scriptures spoke to me, of seasons, of trees barren and fruitful, of the divine gardener’s careful pruning. And I understood.

I was not abandoned; I was being prepared for new growth. The absence of those I loved was not a void, but space for new life to emerge. The pain of amputation, whether of limb or of the heart, is often a sign of life’s relentless march forward.

So here I stand, a tree transformed, my branches fewer but stronger, my roots deeper. The story of us, of all the friendships and loves that have come and gone, is written in the rings within my trunk, a testament to resilience, to change and to the seasons of the heart.

**The Pruning**

In life’s vast orchard, where stories grow,
We find ourselves both friend’s and foe.
Seasons turn, and friendships bloom,
Then comes the pruning, making room.

A mentor’s strength, a wooden leg,
A spirit fierce, no need to beg.
She drove with her left leg, for her right one was gone,
Yet in her stride, life marched on.

Old friends pass, with greetings sometimes brief,
Their words, once sweet, now turned to grief.
A love that’s lost, as a relationship ends,
The heart, it breaks, but then it slowly mends.

The scriptures speak of time and tide,
Of barren trees and pruning’s pride.
A gardener’s hand, both firm and kind,
How he cuts away what’s left behind.

For in each snip, the purpose becomes clear,
To make way for new growth, my dear.
Though branches will fall, the tree still stands tall,
Ready and waiting for the spring’s soft call.

So let the past be as it may,
A story told of yesterday.
The future holds a brighter dawn,
With every ending, life goes on.