I want to say so much about
this oak and these first bluebells
but what can I say that you
don't already see and feel yourselves?
The weight of that trunk hunkering
over the frail brushstrokes of colour.
You might even imagine their barely
perceptible scent soon to be booming
through the woods. We are comforted
in these moments, aren't we? The reliable
return of Spring. By beauty.
The way our small hearts sing.
Above me the first shimmer of green
in the splayed branches. At my feet
these steadfast little gifts. I want to
believe in a world that can change and heal.