A Wintering Wasp Nest of Grief

In grief, every date on the calendar is the same: empty and cold

Photo by Jenny Harrington

Wet, amber leaves litter the ground. The damp, wooded petrichor odors and chromatic hues filtering through dead branches remind me to pull out linen tablecloths and light candles. If it weren’t for the rotting forest catching up and tapping me on the shoulders, mirroring my insides, I’d forget to rummage…