Hebe

Zephyrs dance languidly through the trees.
Water flees in glassy ripples from her hand
and she grins in bright delight.
It is September, going on October, and the autumn sun—
shining and unveiled—grins down on the world.
She is happy and carefree, and nothing seems to carry any weight.

A waxy five, blazing and red, brings with it the weight
of math, history, and grammar. That day in the trees
begins to feel like a different, childish world.
She ambles beside her mother, hand-in-hand
down the school-brick halls to a room as vibrant as the sun.
Her eyes widen and her lips curl up with delight.

The novelty of the classroom begins to fade, and with it goes delight.
The words of her peers now bear more weight
and the dark, tinted windows dull the sun.
She goes home, backpack heavy, and watches the trees,
remembering the way the water once fled from her hand
and wishing to be back in that distant, childish world.

Grey, monotonous, and unchanging has become her world.
Her little brother laughs, overjoyed, and she wished to share his delight
at things as infinitesimal and mundane as a dog licking his hand.
Everything seems to carry with it so much weight,
and she’s starting to forget the shape of the silhouette of the trees
across the oak wood floors of her home in the shining autumn sun.

The ephemerality of adolescent woe parts the clouds from the sun.
A child with her own water-eyes and fire-hair explores a world
of dew-drop leaves and grand, rustling trees.
She can almost feel the naïve, unrestrained delight
of the child’s heart in her own. Everything seems to lessen in weight
as the child’s rapt eyes study the dew clinging to her hand.

Summer green deliquesces into autumn orange. She holds the child’s hand
as they stand before a room as vibrant and loud as the sun.
She hopes that it will not bring the same weight
that tarnished her own silvery, childish world
to a monochrome, rusted hue. She smiles at the child’s squeal of delight
and beseeches her silently to never forget that dew-drop day amid the trees.

Years trickle by and the sun beams down at the world,
but she can see the hidden weight beyond its façade of delight.
Eyes, aged sightless, watch the water again flee from her hand as zephyrs dance in the trees.


Hebe: Greek goddess of youth