The weathered pear, four generations old
My window-meditation, lives in peace.
Rough boughs, pale clouds of fragile blossom hold
Where slim bees hover. Tender leaves increase,
Light-fringed, to cup the summer sky and move
In gentle lifting through blue-dappled shade.
So may I ponder on such kindly Love
Which keeps in beauty every shining blade
Destined so soon to drift through Autumn air
Towards winter dissolution: Glory lost
Reveals new grandeur of trimmed branches, bare
To the gale’s strength, crisp outlined in chaste frost.
So wondering, I dream through the tree’s year
Learning acceptance of God’s Order here.
Spring is here, yellow daffodils are on the march along sidewalks and encamped around trees. The pear trees are crowned with a wispy white mist, not quite yet the cloud of Clare’s poem. The mockingbird that has monopolized our bird feeder has a mate now, and is more willing to share with a cardinal couple, a cooing pair of doves and a flock of song sparrows. Our Camellia, denied its normal winter bloom by more than usual snow, is covered with vivid magenta blossoms. Our Laurel Oak is showering leaves, so we’ll be doing our spring raking soon!