After a winter storm, the world does not
immediately become beautiful
this is something poets sometimes forget
nests lie empty, beneath branches
rivers carry the wreckage of yesterday
slowly towards the distant sea
the petals bruised and translucent
mist circling between the trees
their branches dripping with raindrops
but when the sun finally appears
the forest becomes filled with tiny stars
and the calmness of halcyon
settles quietly upon me
©Ann Bagnall
