Walked, Weary

I walked weary
A wanderer
But short travelled
In the days of lockdown

Twenty two steps
From back door
Across grey tiles
To the small patch of nature
In my garden

Barren these winter months
I had become used to it
Seeing it everywhere, and
Twenty two steps
Took me there today

Weary wanderer me
Watched for withered
Stalks and branches
Expecting my old friend, the barren

But

There among the sharp sticks
Sticking out from the trunk
Of my plum tree
Were green shoots and white flowers

They had arrived
As a wonderful thief in the night
Silently
Still there they were
And no mistaking

They looked out of place
Hope always does
As if I dared not believe they were there
Still they were there
And no mistaking

Vibrant, verdant shoots
Delicate white flowers
So fragile and yet
Strong, defiant

I stood

Twenty-two steps
Across grey tiles
From my back door
In wonder

In those few steps
A new world
Has sprung up
Despite me
In the old and the gnarly one

Rooted to the present
Tree and me
I could but marvel
At this scene
Nature’s lesson:
Winter’s grip loosens
Hope, out of place blooms
All things pass
As this too will pass

 

 

 

 

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