She left the Elm trees swaying in the early spring breeze, picking up rocks as she walked. Feeling the smooth, calm, coolness of them as she slipped them into her pockets, one by one.
She was leaving the only home still standing, the only one ravaged by pain, rather than the Germans. How could she hope to recover this time, when once again, everything was beginning to tear at the seams?
Another rock, another weight.
She had left the notes, only two. Her words hadn’t flowed and that’s when she knew.
Another rock, another certainty.
She returned to the Elms, swaying in the summer sunshine.
Finally finding peace as she slept beneath the intertwined trees, which she had once named after each of them.
‘Against you I fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O death! The waves broke on the shore’
~ Virginia Woolf, The Waves
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