Today I considered the crabapple tree the slow swell of its buds; the future birth of deep crimson leaves from each sprawling limb I let grow wild, refusing to clip and snip. Even at my best imagined vision, I could never sculpt it better than its natural design. Well, I lie. Took the saw to a branch once that came close to poking out my eye by the washing line. But the rest I left to stretch. Its many arms reaching to hold the sky as I behold it. A simple tree, is it nature's gift to me?
All done, poems holding days for a week. Best get back to more grumpy work