I started a routine years ago,

That routine became my life,

Days and days of the same old thing; and confusion if one thing is out of place,

It kept me sane most of the time,

Reminding me that not all things need to change,

But time goes on and time changes,

The seconds, minutes, hours, days, all becoming something new,

And even thought my routine didn’t change,

I did,

It began to not work but I ignored the pain,

Wanting to keep something in this changing world the same,

I became mad; crazy,

Holding on to the last strands of same,

And eventually I sank into the craziness that is this world,

Faded into something less,

And became the routine,

Living each day the same with never anything new.

Welcome to my garden,

It's good to see you here,

Walking through the trees,

That hide this very place,

They overlap the passageway- covered in brush,

Pick a cherry from the tree,

Or have an apple,

It's all up to you,

In my garden,

All are welcome; to hide away,

Find a place that is just for you,

Just know that this place is just for me,

In my garden,

We are home,

Lay on a blanket and stare at the sky,

Watch the birds fly by,

Never knowing that just below,

Is my garden,

Where you sit,

Beside my side,

Looking up and above,

Down and below,

In my garden,

Will you join me?

And the door flew open; pounding against the wall,

And there stood a child,

But wrong something was,

For the child's eyes were white and hazy; a large red mark upon the ear,

And her head tilted at an angle as she stared at the woman standing there,

A step forward for the woman’s step back and chills that flew through the air,

Then the child lunged; there was no reasoning for how fast she flew,

Right at you.

A kiss on the cheek of love,

To protect the child from the lurking darkness of a closed-door closet,

And a flurry of snow outside,

Grazing the window through which the child looks,

After the door closes and footsteps step away,

To the window a hand presses,

Once warm from the clutch of a soft blanket.

Now cold from the violence of the storm,

Pounding against the walls like the beating of the heart,

Thump, Thump, Thump,

Can those walls swallow the winter before a child is lost,

But no,

The outdoors look too magical,

A winter land with presents and dancing teddy bears,

Eyes are lost to the darkness,

A body standing still,

The heating of the room trying to pull the child back into its clutches,

But failure must be imminent,

For the door slams open upon the window closing,

To two parents standing there,

Holding each other in hope that it was all a dream,

For there in the bed is a lump,

A mop of dusty hair on top,

Pull back the covers a mindless thought pops into their heads,

And upon the grasping of the blankets and the pushing of the pillows,

Not but a stuffed bear is found,

With beady eyes devoid of life,

A tag on its shoulder,

“May he rest in Peace.”

Into the woods they rolled and rolled,

Down the slippery slope; covered in the morning’s tears,

Giggling laughter of two like souls,

Cut off by the freezing cold of the river at the bottom,

But the darkness was soon swept away by the little old witch; pulling them out,

With a cackle she swept them away; off on her broom,

Swerving through trees and trees and trees and trees,

Until they reached a cozy little cottage; a pot of green liquid sitting in the yard,

And it was the liquid that they were fed by the little old witch,

That made them nice and warm,

But before they knew it they were back in their beds,

A little stuffed witch with a big old grin on her face,

Laying on the pillows with a cup of green stew in hand.