Tiny Water Droplets

Tiny water droplets cling to the tips of the pine trees like children clinging to their mother. I can smell undertones of their aroma mixed in with wet dirt, and it makes me homesick for the mountains. A memory hurls into my forethought- brought on by the homesickness, I remember mother crying in the spring time. While most people were jubalent when the first crocus poked it's head through the soil, mother wept. I asked her why one fateful season and she said, "Spring is awful. Everything that died last winter has to come back and start it's life all over again. Would you want to do that year after year? I'd rather die and be done with it."

The HAIKU
I blink against sun.
We jump through the sand like crabs
fleeing for our lives.