Tuesday, November 29, 2016

Scaffolding/ Leaf

29th Nov 2016

This morning the rainwater that had collected in the garden tray had turned to ice. Yes, it is official it was freezing last night. But the clear blue sky, if you could ignore the cold seeping into your bones, was like a Tuscan summer sky, the morning light filling the garden helping to create the illusion.
With reds, yellows, oranges and browns set against the blue I could almost put up with the cold for the sheer beauty of it. But I will go out with scarf and winter coat and breathe out a foggy breath and it will not be pleasant. No, no matter how wonderful the scene outside , there is still ice in the tray.

Now for some words:


This old building needs restoring after long grey years,
scarred with use and abuse, concrete slabs crumbling,
broken windows of shattered dreams, vacant eyes staring.
Shape a scaffold with forklift and crane...
and mascara  ...
Cover the cracks, the tracks, from every tear that smacks
of fear -
who hears anyway.
Fill in the holes of memory loss, though no one gives a toss,
that it's going that way.
Repaint the facade of this body, scrub white green slime-
disappointment and pain, stand tall again,
proud to be noticed.


You were born in springtime, mama tree pushing you out as a brand new bud on your branch.
Delicate baby leaf, you unfurled to become a sweet, green promise. 
Fed by your tree with water and nutrients absorbed from the soil of ancestors, you grew 
And you, in turn, produced sugar sap - nourishment for your tree.
You opened up in the rays of the sun, played and danced through the summer 
of your life, veins giving you your particular leaf shape - individual to you.
You gave pleasure and hope to those who came by your wood in those fruitful long days, 
many who came went away refreshed and replenished by your colour, your light.
You, only being yourself, unaware how much you touched so many hearts.
This was your time, your season and with others you created a tapestry of wonder,
waving from your branch , giving your magic  to all who would see.
So when the temperature dropped and your green started to fade it was hard to take.
The first signs of yellowing took us by surprise, halted us in our tracks.
But with the shortening of days, orange specks appeared all over and a weakening began
with your edges getting brittle and other leaves falling to the ground all around you. 
Suddenly it was your turn, you let go and fluttered to the earth,
And you died in the autumn as it is right that you should, but it was hard.


  1. We haven't had our first hard freeze here yet, but it is coming, and like you I am not ready, I never will be. These old bones do not enjoy the cold that we once relished as children, playing outside in the snow until fingers, faces, and toes were numb. But just as with both your beautiful tales to day of scaffolding and leaves, to everything and everyone there is indeed a season. Life cycles that seem so promising in youth give way to practicality and then the surrender to age and endings. I think I shall be ready when my time comes for the fall, I hope that I will be missed a little, but not so much as to leave anyone with a broken heart.

  2. I believe that there is beauty in each season. There is also wisdom and something to be learned. If we appreciate the good, we need to respect the difficult. The, we are able to grow into wisdom, ourselves.


Please feel free to comment with advice and critique.