He loved this uncertain time of year,
when the willow fronds
turn pale with promise. It starts
with the knife edge of a winter wind
that tastes of spring,
the lengthening light.
The rains have come, and the moss
is emerald green.
Clumps of snowdrops
are sprouting in unexpected places.
Finding them is like coming across
an old friend after many years.
As if I were greeting Paul,
or glimpsing his ghost
in the delicate arch of each stem
weighted with its white flower.
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Beautiful. So thankful for your special friendship with my dear uncle. He was a wonderful man! I miss him, too. Bless you, Anne.
I did not know Paul Berné but you have created a moving word portrait of a person with a warm and healing soul through such distinctive word choices as uncertain time of year, knife edge of a winter wind, snowdrops are sprouting in unexpected places–to mention a few–all brought to what James Joyce called an epiphany–glimpsing his ghost in the delicate arch of each stem.
Thank you.