Life In the Dead of Winter

A bud

A tiny Bud

A Tiny Bud on a barren branch

A tiny bud on a barren branch extending into another, larger,

then bleeding into another, stronger,

until they all joined, forming a bigger trunk which sunk under the ground

and unbound, drawn apart into life-giving roots, never to be seen by those above again.

Drinking in the scene my attention returned to the tiny green bud reaching toward me.

While out of context, the entire thing might seem quite ordinary,

… except this bud was blooming in January,


A rebellious breath coming alive in the dead of winter…


The gesture plays pastel through my mind.


Only He would try to romance me with dead trees in the midst of winter,


The synchronicity ticked me, suggesting,

life’s manifesting to play a round with me.

What a pleasure to be caught listening at such a moment,


And so a tiny bud brought a giant to a greater conclusion just by being,

when all odds were against its chances, it showed up in all its glory,

to offer an ounce of beauty and perspective to the story,

should I chose to notice,

free choice to see it and appreciate its presence,

and find the wisdom being offered in spite of what currently torments me…


Walking away the whim stayed, seeding the inkling it took root inside me,

an idea set on growing, extending, repeating…


I am a bud

A tiny Bud

A Tiny Bud on a barren branch

a tiny bud on a barren branch extending from another, larger,

bleeding into a bigger picture in the dead of winter,

just doing my best to stay green.


the scene it painted was one of hope,

for a restless giant at the end of its rope,


“Just hold on little bud seasons change,

The tree you see’s not dead, but hibernating,

soon all around you will be living also,

Until then, just listen for me in everything you meet,

Anything less will only lead to the insanity I’ve shown you…

Be your best when you need me,

in moments you feel weak,

always choose above your natural instinct,

No one person is your enemy, it’s an entity,

In the end, you’re all just waiting for the same thing,

to be seen as worthy,

before eternity plucks you from The Tree.

I stuck my hands in my pockets, with a final thought in mind,

when fate comes a-seekin’ I’ll be sure to be easy to find.


%d bloggers like this:
search previous next tag category expand menu location phone mail time cart zoom edit close