Winter’s Branches

“They are frozen, solid, preserved and intact, until spring.” Gun Roswell

Winter’s Branches

Just yesterday, the leaves were hanging there, living, breathing, drinking in the water from the rain having fallen from the open skies, waving gently in the winds, as if nothing would disturb them.

Then, overnight, the temperatures plummeted, and without so much as a warning, the leaves of the threes, froze, mid life, without a strife, simply hanging there in suspended animation, in whatever position they had been, when the extreme wheaten stormed in.

Pretty, they are, even from a far, the hanging jewels of sorts of the tree, covered by snow and ice, looking quite nice, but inside there, is life waiting to pounce forward at the first sign of spring.