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Winter - A Hard Place

A damp, dank odour pervades the saturated forest; pungent. acrid;
The stench an assault on the human senses:
Working subtly, slowly permeating every pore until it compromises the very heart of the forest.

Seeping easily between the debris; the residue of countless winters past; 
adhering each to the other; and thereby unfolds  Mother Nature’s Mantel, timely spread; 
Evidencing Her committed Guardianship over myriads of tiny creatures now playing-out their annual sleep-over, before the onset of Spring, 

Twisted branches, bereft of the embellishments of Summer,
Paint pictures in the half-light;
Of long boney fingers, tightly interlocked, 
Strengthening winter’s icy grip on the bleak earth below. 

Half-Starved birds exploit the lofty bower; 
Winter, the cruelest of seasons, having savagely plundered the vulnerable amongst their number; 
Huddled together for shelter deep within the uniquely transformed canopy, one constructed as a platform for moral justice - behold, Nature’s impromptu performance.

Finally, winter begins to loosen its grip on the forest habitat
Tiny dots of colour are drawn towards the warm spring sunlight,  
Great shafts of light slice through the naked canopy; like Rainbow fire, igniting the full spectrum of colours as they illuminate the far corners of the forest.
 
While down in the virgin undergrowth, tentative journeys above ground have begun. And seedlings, like tiny white, hooded torsos, heave their nubile bodies towards the light;
Secure in the knowledge of another Spring.

 Spring? Explosive, Energizing: Life Giving, Bountiful; Rejuvenates the Soul! 

Flower Meadows parade their bold new Spring Collections.
Flamboyant Raspberry Reds and Passionate Purples predominate; 
While cocktail led highlights in Citrus lemons and limes suggest a rather “funky , younger “ styling. 

Now heavy with the perfume of a million scented petals,
the morning air begins to move and sway seductively; almost intoxicating; 
In perfect harmony with Nature”s fertile pulse.

At the edge of the forest, I turned my head slightly to catch some of the sweetest birdsong l’d heard in many a long year. 
Craning my neck a little further, I spotted them: high in the Bower; 
those two bedraggled specimens who would no doubt have looked more the part with a little meat on their thin, fragile bones.

But their tone made it unequivocally clear, 
Despite the harshest of winters and the savage assault on their Kind; 
this was by no means a “protest” song.

Indeed, this was a true Celebration! 
Rendered, in unison; in glorious harmony, expressing their unreserved gratitude , regardless of status;
for their place in the world.

Copyright © CAROL ROBINSON | Year Posted 2016

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