February is right around the corner and in San Francisco, that means the plums will be a’bloom. I saw my first little blossom yesterday and remembered this poem I wrote eight years ago:
The twined bare branches against the grey sky,
A twisted prayer pointing upwards.
All is winter in the plum tree,
a mere remembrance of a
former red-leaved splendor.
Hidden in the tangle
is a single pink blossom,
a scout sent out ahead bearing
the good news:
“The bloom is on its way. These stark branches
will soon be aflame in pink blossoms,
singing their Hallelujah
Perhaps this is my work also.
To be the lone pink blossom
announcing the glory to come.