Pre Spring

Pre Spring It had stopped raining I went for a walk, the sun came for a visit and it got hot. Took my coat off, marched on till the sun had had enough and rolled back home. The almond tree, by the lane, looked puny spindly twigs for branches, and grey bark. Ghostlike if it hadn’t been so pathetically ugly. Looked closer and saw a pair of pink buds on its a twig. Now the tree was beautiful and I fretted about the chill in the wind and if frost comes in the night, will it snuff out this new life? I took pictures of the buds, but the photos were a bit blurred and colours not so bright as those I saw with naked eyes, yeah, like my eyes should be undressed most of the time, or hidden behind dark sunglasses. In about three weeks, if all goes well, my bare, nutty tree will be covered in pink flowers and look lovely. Elderly hearts will feel young again and beat too hard. In the vale, where I live, there are many funerals in March.