David Dybdal, MD, PhD
|Posted on 4 December, 2020 at 14:40|
Empty streets and playgrounds in the grayish mist of early spring.
Brightly colored buds push forth, dreaming again of Persephone's return,
With the promise of blue sky sunlight and brilliant hues to come.
Blissfully unaware are they of the ghostly apocalyptic haze in which we now exist.
Then silent-bright, siren-red-light flashes in my eyes...
An old man wrapped in ragged blankets is carried slowly from his home,
gurney-bound and tenderly wheeled away,
metal doors shutting softly, quietly behind him,
as he gazes perhaps for the last time, upon his loving wife.
On the doorsteps of their humble home she stands,
the very spot that they had crossed together a thousand of times before,
bracing herself, staring blankly forward in dismay,
for her beloved one who now has been taken away.
Yet, unbeknownst to her,
right below her very feet,
the earth moves and tilts slowly and steadily towards the sun,
which even now brings warmth, and light, and the hope of spring and life so sweet.
And now I have shifted too,
back to the comfort and wisdom of the trees,
who gently whisper to me the secret that they know,
"My little child, come closer here, for there is no need for fear.
With heart and breath, we know life and death,
One in the same,
Will always together dance and sway, in this magical game we play!"
- David Dybdal