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And so begins the leafless season
limbs laid bare
like the countess of St. Petersburg
whose feathered masks
and cleaving skills distracted
from her business of
transferring gold and rubies till
no hint of former grandeur
in her prey remained
and yet
unmasked
is she the less extravagant
with boughs outstretched
no ruffling sleeves?
For all her past, no breeze
or gale is now capable
of shaking what’s deep-rooted
or denuding her of royalty serene
The carpet at her feet contains
all she will need to spring again
The leafless season, though
to human minds prolonged
is but the gentle closing
of the treasure house
for all within
to rest their feet
and count
the diadems and rings.
~~~
© Elaine Stirling, 2015
Oceantics 
Is there a Robin in the tree ?
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They may have traveled south by now, Clive…but they’ll be back! Lovely to hear from you. 😉
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The key word is “season.”
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Yeah, which up here, is seven freaking months…and may have called to mind the whole St. Petersburg thing. 😉
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But season is transient. Autumn contains the hope of spring, doesn’t it?
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Definitely, yes, every season holds the hope and shape of its opposite.
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