When the grey edges in
stealing all the colour
leaving in its wake
sepia tinged memories
When the light grows dim
and the edges become fuzzy
between time and eternity
When the now and the then
no longer stand in stark contrast
but merge into a beige coloured sludge
And all the radiant golden hues
of a crisp morning in the woods
give way to a carpet of wet, brown leaves
Then we need strong arms around us
quiet souls who will not cajole us
into false cheer
but will allow us to wallow
in the melancholy
that we cannot shake off
Then we need love and companionship
that makes itself known
by tiptoeing in and staying put
relentlessly reliable
persistently present.
In that crevice between fear and hope
lies a world of creativity
only accessed by descending into the valley
to discover a new way to traverse the shadow
until bit by bit the colours re- emerge
and, in our own sweet time,
we edge closer to the light.
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