Victor

The tree stands alone,
Naked and afraid.
The wind whistles within the willows,
The wind washes a wave of goosebumps across his back,
The rustles of the tree sound as if he was shivering from the cold.
The rain falls off Victor and onto the ground with a ‘pitter, patter’.
He stands slumped, with many old branches, each telling its own story.
Rustling in the wind, Victor is whispering, telling his secrets to me
The twigs of the tree turn thinner by the day.
He waits impatiently for the warmer weather and the leaves return.
For the sun to creep up above the horizon,
And the frost to melt.
The winter enforces a constant slump and dampened mood and environment,
Victor is finally ready to blossom.
His eagerness to grow is expanding by the day.
The day has come,
The sun arises from the shore.