The Remains of Winter

As you walk the quarry
you are struck by the remains of winter,
the survivors,
their dry stalks waving in the wind,
glistening in the sunlight,
dead perhaps,
but not quite,
the seeds of new life ready
to be thrown to the wind,
a thousand unborn flowers
poised on the edge of spring.

About this Poem

Inspired by a quarry walk yesterday. There is still snow on the quarry despite the sixty degree day yesterday, and I was struck by the dead flowers with their seeds, struggling for release in the wind.

Later, in a month or two, the quarry will be awash in wildflowers, because of dead things like these. How like life. How like life.

Tom