Matilda, a leaf and the bare beauty of limbs
The leaves have been lashed off by storms. Just one remains. Just one afflicts the sky.
Matilda thinks it’s a bird. She chatters at it, entranced, her tail lashes, her little jaw judders. Perhaps she can charm it down from that high branch. But it’s tenacious. Will cling there through the bleak winter months. A reminder . . . of . . . what? The glory of autumn? The idea of leaves – an idea which holds the promise of spring (hold that thought!).
(Is the word leaf enough without a leaf?)
Less is more. How often we have heard that! Understood by zen masters, haiku poets, minimalists. Not usually the forte of jewellers. . . though . . sometimes . . .
Full parure? Reggae outfit? Prayer beads? A gold band? A cross? A tattoo? A scratch? One drop of blood? Can one drop evoke oceans? A grain of sand: the world? One scarlet leaf: the promise of spring? And when does a single leaf become a bird?
the bare beauty of limbs.
After the lashing
one flag remains
red as a sky-wound.
and lichens crawl
and beard chill sides.
From twigs and tips
new worlds invert and shine and drop
while we steam our hands
About the author
Margaret West is an artist who sometimes makes jewellery; she writes: mostly poetry essays. She has exhibited widely in Australia overseas. She lives in the Blue Mountains, New South Wales, Australia.
About this blog
Touching the thingness of words the wordness of things.
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