On a dark December afternoon
daylight was about to disappear
and an eager moon
begun to re -assert itself
behind fast – moving
slivers of grey , sullen cloud .
I levered it from the soil
severing the ground – level cord
connecting it to it’s parent .
More in hope than expectation ,
I bagged the spindly root
and it’s unfriendly clod of earth .
A week or so later
I planted it beside a wall
in between some other climbers
that had spread their shoots
but failed to flower profusely .
Christmas came , then drab January
with it’s barren branches
incessant rains
and woeful lack of colour .
Snow arrived with February
unexpectedly persistent
settling deep ,
fixed to the ground by hard frost
covering the new sapling completely .
Primrose days brought a thaw
first shoots appeared
on a honeysuckle bush
sat along side my reluctant newcomer .
By April even the pessimistic clematis
had burst buds
though my passion flower
leaned loose and limp against the wall ,
almost too tiny to be seen .
I decided to wrench
the wretched stripling out
ruing the trouble I took
to transplant it
on that cold , forbidding December day
eighteen long weeks earlier .
various distractions prevented this
as I tended to other plants
whose lives had been affirmed with glory
by pearl – strings of white scented blooms ,
tight clusters of yellow on naked stems ,
and dark blue dog – violets
brimming boldly
from a grass bank
underneath the hedge .
The month of May
blazed its red ,
salmon pink and butterscotch shades
and I completely forgot
the wiry weed
lurking beneath the lawn
and my sandstone wall .
Then suddenly , with May almost over ,
I noticed a ting twist of greenery
reaching towards the light .
I bent down to look ,
scratched the surface of the little stem
to discover a trace of sap inside .
the plant was reprieved
and watched
as the mid – month came in ,
and by the longest day
hand – clasps of leaf rosettes
were reaching out to tight strands
coiling around parts of other plants ,
now advancing at the rate
of two inches or more each day .
Beyond our fence
exotic painted faces of passion flowers
were clothing the wooden slats ,
slipping inside the tiniest gap
flourishing , multiplying ,
just the way they should .
I then knew at last
my initial faith had been justified
and that I too
would soon be welcoming
the unbridled joy of a bright display
turning gradually
into ovoid , apricot fruits ,
whose pithy seeds would eventually fall
to begin again
that eteranl journey
toward beauty and fulfillment .
© 2011, Allan. All rights reserved.
