Growth

The blossom stage is over with, nature prances on unabashed.

Toothsome, chunky leaves appear notwithstanding the lockdown.

Didn't you hear we've hit pause?

No replies the stout little apple tree, I didn't get the memo say the peas.

I'm growing as I was meant to, the rose spools out of its tight weave.

The baby knows no different, It's following a law set out long before

televised broadcasts of permitted behaviour - it jumps around

and does back flips against my ribs, following Fibonacci's sequence.

Before, Mum would have held me in her arms, always her child again -

feeling the movements of a baby grown from an egg that lived inside me,

when I was inside her. Miraculous nature. 

Now we air kiss across a six foot gulf, the next chapter of the legacy

of matriarchs getting off to a sci-fi start. Yet this story is truly Biblical,

traditional in the oldest sense. A baby is born, a mother is created, a

Grandmother steps into her time-honoured role.

The plants don't worry about regeneration, they welcome the bees

with open leaves. They sprout and shoot and multiply with abandon,

and who are we to question it? It brings such solace to see greenery.

I'll try my best to submit to the journey just as nature intended.