Days 6 through 12 were all written where I had no access to the internet so please find them here retrospectively.
I was looking at the weeping willow trees in the retreat centre's garden and mourning the fact I wouldn't get to see them covered in leaves. The resulting idea felt amazing in my head but I just haven't got it to feel right 'on paper'.
Willow
A cold spring delayed the stitch of leaves
so branches hang like the frame of a ball gown.
It can feel wrong to wait for the weeping.
The same vein of discomfort as for Ophelia,
knowing she can only pluck the heart string
when the play permits her to drown.
Until the fetters of shame and guilt are released,
theirs is a beauty that cannot be embraced.
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