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:
Scaffolding
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.
Leaf
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.
