Sunday, June 08, 2014

at the edge of the mountain, listening to the trees

All through the morning, the gilded glimmer of the light on the quivering aspens was visible through my window. I could hear the singing of these leaves, even without my ears. The birches answered the wind with a softer whisper, cushioned by the tender fur that appears on their mature, heart-shaped leaves. I was surrounded by my sisters, deeply comforted.

My darlings were stirring more and more as the day drew on: garlands of birch-leaves, lifted by the breeze as if long, curly locks, caressed by an unseen hand. Dark-green alder leaves chattered excitedly with the smaller willow-leaves. Spruce branches waved mildly at the ruckus of the rest: muttering, we've been green all winter, ladies, it's about time you arrived at the party. But on the very tippy-tips of the spruce trees appeared soft, vulnerable new-green growths, giving the spruces a chance to look down at their branches fondly, and notice their fancy new manicures.  Ah, what a giddy, joyous day in these woods!

On the next day, a sense of quiet hesitation. A covering of clouds descended, and the wind ceased, for the most part. A vague murmuring in the branches: a question. A signal of coming change.

A delicate perennial survived the harsh Northern winter, and has begun blooming in my rock-garden: a bleeding-heart.

Alas, alas, it cries. There is so much sorrow every-where. And yet, and yet..........we are alive.


bluestorm said...

Such a gentle writing! I feel like being "lifted by the breeze" myself.
The bleeding-heart blooming wraps it perfectly. Renewed and tender. Trusting.
Thank you, Iulia.

Iulia Flame said...

Thank you, dear friend.

the song of a shell sapphire melting inside jade a color unnamed Ofra Haza's version of this song defies categoriz...

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