Ashes

February's a hill made of sadness and dirt. You can see it coming from so far away across the plains but no matter which way you turn it's still in front of you. The trails are all so cold, and the rain that collects in your footprints freezes at night sometimes. But the saddest thing is that tree all the way at the summit, standing black against the opal sky. The bare branches are hung with flowers and necklaces, smoke and heartbeats, all left as talismans by hopeful lovers who passed this way.