Twisting tiny vines

Twisting tiny vines consume the branch ahead.

It’s a cluster of soft mustard colored dots

with slightly opened shell pods, bowing toward the sun.

I stop and try to release it.

But I have no tools.

I have nothing but my hands to try and break it free.

I tug and pull.

Searching for an opening in which to rip it apart.

The tiny vines seem to be the strongest though.

They hold on to the broken branch for dear life.

Then I see a spot in which to break a piece,

and the whole lot is mine.

I have won my prize,

And I walk home with both my arms full.

When I get home I sort and group.

Inspecting my find.

Selecting the proper vessel and the right placement.

But when I finish I see the left over pieces,

the dirt and debris,

the small fragments which have fallen to the tabletop.

I wipe the table clean,

carrying the handful of wispy seeds and crumbs to the garbage.

But instead I see the window.

With one hand I pull up the pane and then the screen.

And out fly the soft remains,

Like ashes to the wind.

My head peers out the window, hovering from above in midair,

As I watch them fall gently to the earth.

Week 11. Regeneration.

The broken branches from the last big snowfall are all over my neighborhood. I’ve been on a mission to find the ones with some gorgeous facet so I can bring them home to admire. Maybe it’s my way of continuing their legacy, an homage to the tree from which it was born. I found one type of tree in particular that had such lovely pods and incubated seeds. The seeds were soft like velour and the color was that of grainy mustard. After I finished arranging the branches in a vase I began clearing up the table and noticed many tiny pieces, which had fallen off in the process. It’s always the leftover pieces I have the hardest time parting with. Maybe it my packrat ways or maybe it’s my need to find potential in everything. Even within my artwork, when I collage it’s those piece I cut from that seem to be the freshest. I have cigar boxes full of those scraps, just because I can’t let them go.

Anyway, about the branches- Seeds need to find their way to soil in order to live and flourish so could the same be true for us? Tangles, which are released are the beginning of this cycle of change. In the process there may be remnant, fallen pieces but these pieces have the potential for growth, proving that even in our everyday lives there is always the possibility of regeneration.