I found a dry gray twig that cracked when I broke it between my fingers.
Without color, without life, only a brittle reminder of green glory past.
An unlovely stick, broken away from its family of branches, useful only in its decay.
Only one of many made by Winter
Without color, without life, only a brittle reminder of green glory past,
Reminder of growth, reminder of beauty, reminder of shade and rest.
Only one of many made by Winter
Rhythmic pointer of season to come, singing a silent song of Spring
Reminder of growth, reminder of beauty, reminder of shade and rest
An unlovely stick, broken away from its family of branches, useful only in its decay?
Rhythmic pointer of season to come, singing a silent song of Spring!
I found a dry gray twig that cracked when I broke it between my fingers.
Stones and Feathers
A different way of seeing
Stones and Feathers 
Mary Ann, This touches my soul. I come back to it today after reading your new gardening poem Seed Time. You have a wonderful way of contemplating the world and putting things into words. I love the line and thought of the “Rhythmic pointer of season to come, singing a silent song of Spring!” I think I’ll come back to this poem over and over again. Thank you. Sonja
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Sonja, you grace me with your comment. My pilot son called me to say he loved this, too, and that he had read it in more than one way…including thinking of a Grandmother’s voice and the song of her granddaughters. His little girls are 2 and 5.
Mary Ann
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