Thanks for this oh so glorious day,
the white frosting the trees,
the roots hidden and holding,
the sun muted but listening,
the air waiting in branches
and all the warmth gathered
in the grey-brown of bare bark.

A still-life silhouette
waiting for a new season,
a naked landscape
minding the moment,
no rush and froth,
no hanging on to
last year’s favours,
no straining for
tomorrow’s buds of green.

A silent holding of space,
a frieze of stiff fingers in cotton gowns,
a meditation of grace.