Rockhollow's Away-Morn

Title: Rockhollow's Away-Morn    
Six of Thirty    
Unique Words: One Hundred and Seventy Five      
     
#NaPoWriMo19      
      
We're parting - I'm anxious.        
Duties in Exeter call, a promise of fun with dear friend      
yet for me, firmly drenched in motherhood, it seems as if already ended.        
      
Fresh rain paints the skin of you, both a noisy vandal in the night and the ingredient for growing success.        
I acknowledge, in my subdued form, the progression it is gifting it's energy to.      
      
There's a youthful nature to the scent of rainfall,        
as single drops drip down from the gutter as if a beat      
onto soil no longer broken by heat.        
      
The Amelanchier is undressing, it feels wrong leaving her stripping herself      
with no one to admire it, her blossom rotting on damp floor,      
single promises of yield.        
      
I sit beneath our lean to, the one he made with his father,      
the one I sit beneath with his daughter, and I hold myself in this movement of life. This gentle, paced journey where I no longer feel connected      
to the sisters, who have not yet endured        
      
such lonely birthing, nor to the fired creature I was before it. In the simplicity of this solitude, it does not scare me to not be truly in the pack. No, instead I aim to be unafraid of trying to be in it,      
of trying to enjoy what should be joyful to a normal woman.      
      
"One more circle," I whisper, out loud or inward, perhaps both. "For grounding sake." -      
      
Clematis, iris, late parrot tulips almost opening their face to me,      
anemones, daphne, daffodils falling away as if burnt out silver-screen stars,      
honesty, cornflower, forget me not athletes in their prime      
and then there's me here, nervous - creator, mother of life and land, protector. I can face a little other-life based joy.