On Taking Time

I cast my eyes around this garden, the night garden, transformed beneath a layer of frost that catches the pale celestial light and reflects it as though thousands of tiny diamonds have embedded themselves into and upon the land. The red berries of the cotoneaster and how soon the birds will pluck them from the branches, one of the last sources of food this side of winter, grateful for the overgrown tree and it’s plentiful supply. Of the thick ivy that grows and the cover it provides to so many creatures. Of the bare cherry tree, it’s branches reaching ever skywards, it’s leaves long fallen.