The Season of Returning

Lara

I fell into winter,

a quiet collapse of light.

Bare branches above me,

and silence heavy as snow.

The frost took my laughter,

the wind took my name,

and I drifted through the cold,

like breath caught between worlds.

But the earth-

she never forgot me.

She hummed beneath the ice,

a low song,

ancient and patient:

even the seed must sleep before it blooms.

And I listened,

still and small,

to her steady heartbeat below.

The rain returned,

soft as mercy,

washing sorrow from my hands.

The wind tangled in my hair

and whispered, home,

as the ground beneath me

stirred with life-

shivering, stretching, reaching for the sun.

Moss clothed my sorrow,

petals crowned my scars.

I did not burst into life;

I unfolded.

I became.

Rebirth is not thunder.

It’s rhythm,

a heartbeat beneath soft soil,

a river remembering its song.

It’s the body learning warmth again,

the soul relearning grace.

Now I move with the earth’s own music.

I am green where I was gray,

river where I was stone,

light where I was pain.

I have returned,

not as who I was,

but as everything I was meant to become.

And when the dawn brushes my skin,

I do not hide.

I open wide,

like the first flower of spring

singing softly to the sun:

I am here.

I am whole.

I am light again.

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1. @itslarawrites on Instagram