Trees endure the ineluctable passage of the seasons.
Stripped of their autumn leaves, the naked clarity of winter reveals itself amongst their branches, exposing them once again to its icy embrace.
Perhaps they pine the absence of their rustling leaves or are embarrassed by the harsh whistling sounds of the midwinter winds through their long thin branches.
But even on the coldest and most inhospitable of days, they must surely be reaching out with expectation towards the sun, while searching below, from the tips of their roots, for the first signs of the coming spring.
Friday Fictioneers is brought to you courtesy of Virgin Trains this week as I’m off to London to see an exhibition at the Tate Modern.
Unhappy with the text I’ve come back to it today. Thanks for your patience.
Thanks CE for a wonderful prompt. Enlarging the image I caught a phrase written on the building behind “EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE ALRIGHT” It’s a very positive affirmation.
Thanks to Rochelle for the opportunity of entering this great weekly challenge.