Old Souls


the blue sky stretches

while trees in winter greens

sleep quietly and long ago souls

watch the ice crystals craze

the boughs, and

shadows lengthen

revealing an artist’s palette 

of sugary earth and autumn browns;

And under the rotting foliage

faithful creatures hide

sheltering from the

biting cold.


The earth breathes again as

skeletal branches reach

to the warming sun and beneath

the mouldering rot, tiny bulbs

and seeds are seeking resurrection.

Roosting above a few birds 

wrestle the silence and,

as other whisperers awaken,

begin their wondrous melodies.


Garnered garlic lined paths and 

astonishing drifts of bluebells,

shine amidst the dappling woodland.

Tiny anemones speak out for joy

as the moss carrying birds

dance for their future

and fertilised eggs

are snugly warmed from

the Spring chills.


Violets smile at the light,

And victory is everywhere

burgeoning and growing

anointing the earth 

with vitality and painting

a carpet of yellows, blues,

purples, and above

the fresh green grows

stealing the light. 

And the souls of the trees

watch as life is 

quietened below, fostering

fruitfulness on high,

shouting to the world

our lives matter and 

our rhythm is to be

guarded       and beauty


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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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