Tag Archives: tree
Golden tresses wave in the pale sunlight. Fire colours flicker – red, yellow, orange. Leaves slowly burning, their tiny flames fanned by the bitter winter wind.
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.
Caught by the back windscreen wiper, flattened against the blackened glass. It flutters gently as the car moves off. Yellowing with age, ripped from its tree by the autumnal fall, it gives its last display.
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.
Twig by twig I’ve seen it appear, fat and pendulous in the bare branches of the tree. A magpie perches on its sturdy edge, looking proud and strong. His chicks will be safe here, all Spring long.
The trunk stands straight against the stone wall, knobbly branches wriggling out. Bare as the winter wind, a skeleton exposed. Forced into unnatural lines, yet nature still prevails, in the willful waviness of the wood.
The wind rises up like a wave and flings a snowball of rain against the window. I look up just in time to see the tree branches retreating wildly, as if to say “It wasn’t us!”