Five leaves Are all that’s left On the greying, knotted Branches.
The last fig stolen By the glossy black raven An afternoon ago.
No green hand-shaped leaves Shading the grass. No bright green perches For the chickadees and Sparrows.
Just stark, dramatic Wooden fingers Reaching toward the Brilliant blue sky.
A place for visiting phoebes And towhees to rest Between scavenging for Tiny winter morsels.
Dozing between seasons. Dreaming of what’s to come. Holding the very essence Of life somewhere deep within Its coldly smooth trunk. Hiding its mysteries In the dank ground below.
Not really dead But momentarily lifeless. A surrender to the moment. To the darkened days And bitter winds.
Waiting for the beckoning Of warmer light The hum of bees, The awakening pulse Of golden liquid To push through its solid Arms.
Waiting for the moment To return. To give hope and shade And sustenance.
Peggy is a wife, mother, and grandmother who loves to write about the Love of God and encourage others in their faith. She lives near the ocean in the Los Angeles area and has multiple cats and one very fuzzy dog.
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