By Katherine Toppin

Staring out the window, the Dogwood tree is barren.  A woodpecker delivers its marks repeatedly upon a rigid bark. I never did think to take a picture of my Dogwood tree, which was once a constant personification of spring. However, I did last spring, unintentionally.

It’s been twenty years since cousin Colin visited.  He stood before the Dogwood. The camera does not lie! Raining petals appear frozen within frames yet bury his shoes. Butterflies and bees dance to the rhythms of new blossoms while his melancholia lashes against it.  Sadly, Colin took his life that very spring!


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