Sunday 16 September 2018

Satsuma (September)

Weed-surrounded round trunk fortifies into urine-trickled rain-watered black soil now fifteen years, its bark a tribulation of Viennese cross-hatching, scarred and come summer ant-trailled. Seven or so branches river-bow above, grey fabric dark around polls and branch snaps, pruned into places no human goes but bees reach in changeable September sunshine. Shoots of green tip the long whips, their brown flex almost burgundy, determined to repeat the quiet outreach of unspoken millennia, tail-waving in minimal breeze. White five-petalled blossoms trick out in twos and threes, at intervals, their golden starburst pollen parading in the air for fruit and night possums.

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