There isnβt much to this week but on this day, intertwined in a breeze wondering if the clouds will shower or burst into a freeze I read pages and pages of past taking breaks to peel pears and slice the strawberries drizzling honey onto plates and savouring the sweetness of spring fruit I think of all the mountains I've yet to climb and how much I look forward to the rain but parts of me still hold onto autumn and the feeling of watching the trees shift into a new ending Itβs just like how these days I keep returning to the shelves on these walls picking up all the books from every conversation in the past and trying to, once again, read between the lines to decipher when those questions became answers