Tag Archives: branches
Branches stripped bare reveal its black shadow against the pale grey sky. A Spring-built, careful little bundle of sticks, moss and hope. Now it hangs abandoned, its usefulness spent, waiting for its time to come again.
It stretches out its branches against the frosty winter sky. At the end of each, there hangs a bundle of dropping leaves; dry-brown tears mourning the end of Autumn.
We chop up its prickly branches to lay across a bed of freshly sown seeds. Although no longer in its Christmas finery, it can still help new life to arrive in peace.
Skeletal winter trees against a darkening sky. Their topmost branches seem dipped with bright, rust-orange light, uniform and unmoving. The sun leaves us with a final flourish, as it moves on to start again, a world away.
Its dark, evergreen branches seem dusted with red buds. Its branches move in the wind, like a flamenco dancer swishing her skirt.