Wednesday

The sun is up again and anything goes. 

The tree beside my window is budding and I feel patronised because I thought she was dead.

Like I thought she was one of those collections of branches that are also trees but not the sexy ones. 

But she’s peacocking, virile.

And I’m like ok, what do you want me to say. 

My body wants to humble her but she cannot be humbled.. in her budding.

Scrawny, skinny branches, skin so dry it’s hard to believe bodies are 70% water 

In all those months we slept together, coughed together, as my winter story played out in the city, she and the breeze would wave and I’d roll over and *snore*

She has never questioned her worth.

She never had to tell anyone she grew leaves.

She never thought about how next year she’d shine – who knows if she even embraced the winter

But She is extra pleasing in spring.

And She never apologised for showing up leafless, in her season. And She never spent it waiting for spring. 

All I know is she was there. She sat in it, through it. 

I am jealous of still life

and the grace in which it embraces change.

Sigh.

It’s so easy to minimise your worth.

Thanks for the lesson my lover. 

See you in the Summer.