some play from the past

The wind slows to a gentle breeze and finally dies down. Through out the village, young children play in the fields, climbing on bales of hay and sifting through the dirt and mud that cakes the roads.

The older children don't play; they grieve for the season that changed everything. Spring has come and gone; promises were kept and broken. Nothing and everything is different now, like the pale white cherry blossoms that fluttered down from the trees, making room for ripe, plump berries. The world is fluid place; while change is inevitable, ignorance is too, and life goes on with relatively little hindsight.

Perhaps some who knew the story well- Melchior, Martha, Ernst, Ilse, Hanschen, Otto and Georg –have learned a lesson we ought to have taught them long before the tragedy of spring's awakening.

Or, perhaps we must learn this lesson ourselves.