And HOPE sprouted before withering away

When the icicles began to drip, staining the ground, and the once pristine snow, now tainted by mud, took on a decaying appearance. A malady festered, spreading across the grass.

The commute was never too arduous. My residence was merely a 5-minute bus ride away, yet I treasured the additional 20 minutes it took to walk home. Beneath the bridge, through a small cluster of trees—insufficient to be deemed a forest—spiders diligently spun their webs on the desolate branches, hoping to ensnare their next meal. I steered clear of the trees, wary that the skeletal arms of the branches might entrap me as well.

My subpar headphones persisted in playing my music, with one ear emitting a louder sound, creating a sensation of walking off balance. Perhaps I truly was.

Balancing on the trunk of a fallen log, I managed not to tumble. However, as I leaped off and landed awkwardly on my ankle, that's when I spotted it: a tiny ladybug amidst the snow, its red wings frozen mid-flight. I pondered how it must have felt, possibly scared, poised to depart from this stitched-up town—where many wielded seam rippers—only to be thwarted by time. The red hues had faded into its black spots; it had vanished when the snow was still pure and cold.

Now its lifeless form lingered in the decay, thawing as the snow and mud merged, giving rise to mildew around it.

Yet, in that moment, I observed a twitch of red, and hope sprouted before withering away. If not from the snow, then from the spiders' intricate web. And so, I left a muddy footprint in its place.