Autumn Budding

 

Pale green against the twigs
and fading summer leaves, 
they hang as an enigma,
as a deposit on what will emerge
months from now,
on the other side of winter.

Young catkins protecting tiny
grains of ripening pollen
growing deep within,
holding on by strength of stem 
and will,
soon buffeted by cold and 
winter's worst, withered
grueling days of getting by
while the darkling world is frozen.

And what of us? 
Like catkins,
battered by grief and confusion,
we deepen into the fruit of
what we are becoming.
Like a pregnant mama's experience of
awkward bodily disruptions,
punctuated by exhaustion,
discomfort, uncertainty...
uncomfortable growth
that supports the newness she will bear.
We will bear.

Next summer, there will be hazelnuts.