Winter

When you first saw me, you marveled at my size. I was but half of you. You were careful with me. I was small, that winter. You'd come visit me and sit by me as I grew, now above you. You tested my strength, began to lean on me. I was bare, that winter. When I got tall enough, you started exploring me. You began to climb me. But in the middle of the summer, you fell and hurt yourself. I watched you cry and get carried away. I was silent, that winter. You returned that spring. You wouldn't climb me this time. But you'd still play and explore. You'd find the bugs and creatures that lived on me and you'd marvel. I was heavy, that winter. You'd read me stories. You, too, grew. We would sit together in the sun as you fell asleep on me. I'd protect you so you didn't burn. I was happy, that winter. One year, you came with a girl. You both sat beneath me and laughed and laughed. You took out a knife and carved away some of my bark. A heart. I was a watcher, that winter. And then, one day, you left. You didn't return. The girl and the man who had carried you when you broke came. They cried. They sat under me again and told stories of you. Things you'd done. How you'd loved coming to see me. They too, left. They, too, have gone now. I am alone, this winter.