The Cypress



I remember that it was the 37st day of summer, it was a hot day outside and many flowers reached their full bloom but not the cypress, no not the cypress.

I was rereading the letter that the man with shining black shoes brought me, when I opened the door he tapped his foot one time, when he gave me the letter two times and then once again as he left.

He never spoke a word not even as I began crying.

He never had to.

Then the first snowflake fell, fell from the sky landing on the cypress that was now beginning to open.

I watched from my window as more and more fell. I thought they wouldn't fall if I couldn't see them so I turned around.

It didn't stop.

The cold would get inside soon I thought so I shifted closer to the fireplace that began burning brighter and hotter every minute, every minute closer to burning me and just before it could the coldness took over.

I tried to enlighten it again and again and again. 

I called for him and I asked. He still never spoke a word.

So I went back to crying.

The cypress was now almost in full bloom, which I noticed after my tears froze and pinched my skin drawing blood still red, still flowing.

The cold couldn't enter my house fully but i was done crying.

I shuffled to my door opening it.

It was the 37st day of summer, it was freezing, only one flower was about to bloom the cypress, only the cypress bloomed as my feet touched the frozen earth.