Recently, the mountain, which has always been a bright joy and a source of spiritual strength in my life, has become black and white. My village, which suddenly became like a cemetery ... A desert ...
Two years have passed since my mother's death. And like the last leaf of famous O. Henry my father's life was there ... I clung to this last leaf to keep in my heart the joy of a carefree childhood. But it happened ... Today my father, who lay paralyzed for two months after a stroke, passed away. The place of joy - my village - has become a place of pain! Maybe someday, for grandchildren and great-grandchildren, it will shine with colors again, and as someday it will be a quiet paradise for me, where I came to rest in the aura of love and spiritual strength of my parents. But for me the mountain became black and white.
Life suddenly split into two contrasting halves again: before and after ...
Like a tree overwhelmed by the weight of snow, I bowed to the ground from the weight of grief. My children, like young strong trees, cheerfully support me and try to fun me.
They are wonderful, but they do not understand: my soul needs black and white colors now ... Spring will come, the snow will melt, the tree will level and give birth to new shoots.
But will cut off the broken branch ...
#MonomadChallenge by 