This ugly mess of tree reminds me of hope.
Two seeds have raced each other for sunlight. Trunks like spindle hands, have curled about each other, locked now in an eternal arm wrestle.
Autumn has begun the progressive process to strip bare; indignant, soon their battle will be unmasked. Their combat, still partially hidden by the now yellow-green foliage, will not be silent for long. Winter has become a march.
Weeds at the base grow tall, as if lovingly they reach up to meet the sagging tinder branches. But their love is only for the compete of that which nurtures, buried within the soil. Their true nature lies rooted in the earth, fending only for self and none for sacrifice.
Against all odds these seeds, they co-exist, even in their ugly mess.
Two seeds have raced each other for sunlight. Trunks like spindle hands, have curled about each other, locked now in an eternal arm wrestle.
Autumn has begun the progressive process to strip bare; indignant, soon their battle will be unmasked. Their combat, still partially hidden by the now yellow-green foliage, will not be silent for long. Winter has become a march.
Weeds at the base grow tall, as if lovingly they reach up to meet the sagging tinder branches. But their love is only for the compete of that which nurtures, buried within the soil. Their true nature lies rooted in the earth, fending only for self and none for sacrifice.
Against all odds these seeds, they co-exist, even in their ugly mess.
1 comments:
This is very beautifully written, the word picture is very clear!
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