Sometimes wind rustles through tall trees, reminding me of my son,
a powerful bird soars overhead, and I remember
Sometimes fragile butterfly gently basks in the sun, recalling delicate memories,
Sometimes a scent in the air brings him closer,
or I feel him in the leaves, in golden skies, or a place that connects me to him.
Sometimes none of this feels enough
I miss the deep absence he creates in my life
I find a tiny heart-shaped stone,
and I feel present with my son who has died,
and that he lives on in my heart.