Alone Among Oranges

I splashed past a flooded orange grove

Fruit bursting with juice hanging low on the branches

And greening around the slits where they have split open

wind and gravity hurling them to the ground,

The normally parched earth shining muckily through rivulets of spring rain

that came down harder than we ever expected.

A wet season, they said. Winter. This winter at any rate.

Puddles collecting at every zebra crossing,

stressed parents manhandling plastic covered prams

And style-conscious ladies flashing designer welllies,

Their annual show, finding excuses to parade through the square,

giggling and shrieking as they sprint to avoid the spray from delivery vans.

They remind me of birds, preening and presenting, using the rain as a weapon

a tool in their hunt.

A long-limbed snowy egret stands alone amidst the fallen oranges

Her eyes sweep the scene, watching vigilantly.

The rain continues to fall. I pass and the moment is gone.

Perhaps she is still waiting there.

 

 

I haven’t written a post in a long time. I hope you will forgive the rushed quality.

A Tree Speaks

Our mountain home is a good placeWe are green of leaf and, fair of face

The raven’s wing covers our scars

And we trail our branches beneath the stars

Dance by the light of the cherry moon

Fearing the furious heat of June

When Our brothers fell in their habitat

Mown down by fiery flames so that

Some concrete blocks could take their home

And concrete people with hearts of foam

Will park their Eco-friendly vans

In villas carved from forestland

We trees our home ground cannot choose

In a war with man, we always lose.