This
If anyone asks how my year has been,
I’ll say, if you really want to know, like
this, and hold up a small stem from a tree
that grows beside the lake path – a wild fire
of orange and pink we rarely see this
far north in the dark of winter. My hand
looks pale, ancient, against the fiesta
of clashing diamonds and hearts, seed and fruit
juicy with rain. I’ll say spindleberry,
a backwards spell for summoning, blessing –
rest it in anyone’s open palm who
asks and looks as if they really desire
the answer, who might have an inkling what
harvest means – like this, like this, like this.
Pure and simple perfection.
OH! This is a truly WONDERFUL poem. (And spindleberry one of my favourite trees – the commune here in France managed to shave mine right back just at flowering time this year.) Thank you.