I have always been entranced by the changing seasons and the beauty they bring. I grew up close to Centennial Park in Sydney and my parents would often take us there on a Sunday. We would play and they would spend the hours bent over, handkerchief on head and small knife in hand collecting what appeared to be weeds, at least by Aussie standards. Italians would boil, strain, chop and make omelettes to grace the sandwiches for offspring lunches.
How sad that said offspring, both of them (and their cousins), would throw the sandwich away embarrassed by the green threads hanging from sliced, home-baked bread and stare longingly at Vegemite or peanut butter on store-bought white.
Oh well, we did enjoy watching things bloom especially the hibiscus, and we did manage to find the occasional blackberries. I hope they were blackberries and edible but I am alive to tell the tale and I have learnt to appreciate the finer cuisines in life, and thankfully my offspring have not repeated mistakes best forgotten.
Pretty blossoms to be
Adored with pleasure
Drawn, pulled from the deepest
Part of the earth to grow
To prove beauty is really
From within for are not
The trunks and branch ugly in the
Winter frozen chill.
Delicate, the softest of colour
Combinations, barely there
And yet such a bold fashion
Statement to represent the coming of
A new season,
a new beginning.
I wish we could
Poetry from Emotions in Eruption