dirt words

I notice her shoulders slumped with the heaviness of a closed mouth. She says nothing and I know she thinks it will pass but there is a bitter taste that has crawled out of the garden and into her mouth.

She purses her lips together and tries to keep hidden the things she hasn’t said.

I remember five summers and three months ago when she and I sat on the lawn of a botanical park somewhere between the both of us, where the grass was quickening brown and the summer was claiming the roses. We wore each others hat and dared to open our mouths. We spoke openly and honestly about the pain and the weakness. As the sun moved to the right of a blue sky, we walked beside each other, up the hill and through the village; the silly north breeze behind us.

Today, the wind is swirling from all directions, collecting the little things that don’t matter and blowing it all into the corners of the garden beds. She walks past, pretending not to notice the new blossoms, the growing tree or the path that has been newly swept. She averts her eyes downward as we pass by the prettiest part of the garden; where the soil is freshly turned over. It makes her anxious because her mouth is already full of the things she has not said or swallowed. She brushes the back of her hand against her lips and feels the crumble of unspoken dirt words fall away.

She clenches her teeth, looks at her toes and turns back toward the house.

Spring has arrived and although this is the season of new beginnings, this is no way to begin.

© ryan

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Tags:

change, dirt, friendship, garden, love, pj ryan, spring, summer, wind and words