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  • Writer's pictureCrone

Bluebell bamboo

By the stalks of the bamboo that's trying to take over my garden, these warm blue bells ring their serenity as the breeze susurrates in the leaves above. I try to hold on. Try to hold on to the calm and simple, beautiful, brave survival of plants.


The cherry blossoms are just at their best but will all too soon begin to blizzard in the spring gusts. That colour, that pureness of pink promise that life is bursting forth.



I hold on, I try to hold on to the hope and the light and the reminder of this sweet cycle, die back then come back. That the mineral memories of me, of my dog, my cats, my family and friends will never be lost.


There is a 'new' rock - plastic and sand and sediment. The geological stamp of the anthropocene. Hermit crabs make homes in the plastic heads of cast off dolls. Baboons feast on our trash and develop the diseases that plague us.


Today I said farewell to a friend I'd not seen for some years and who is soon to move across the country, into the country. No mortgage. Herself, her daughter, their cats. She will work online where she can. Something, she said, will come up. she, like all of us, has had her mix of bad and good, is a mix of bad and good. Life just is a mix of bad and good.


Die back, come back.

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