This is the first season where I've felt the full force of fresh life,
Buzzing in the air, an unseen presence.

The true, overwhelming power of springtime.

Life and death blossoming in unison and bathed in green.

But I find the young broken bodies,
Barely lived and withered on the concrete.

I find the feathers strewn without the creature they once belonged to;
Evidence of violence past.

I find the promise of life, snatched away.


Is it Hysteria?

Superstition?

Coincidence?



I find bad omens.

I hope they don't find me.

© Amelia Tuson