The Witch Hazel

 

The witch hazel is one of the first signs of spring in our garden, sending an incongruous, but very welcome, shoot of yellow flowers towards the drab winter khaki of the bullace hedge. It reminds me of some Promethean brand, as if fire has been stolen from the long-hidden sun and planted defiantly as a sign of the life that will follow despite the unpromising weather.



        



        The Witch Hazel


        Through the lagging cloud,

        The first kindling of sun

        Has caught the witch hazel,

        Breathing yellow sparks

        Along its dry spindles

        In a flare of static,

        Like synapses suddenly

        Connecting in long dark.

        Lemon zest filaments

        Leap the narrow path to

        Fizz the bullace bloom.

        Later, below the bright

        Half host of the moon, the

        Spell of its corona

        Settles on the garden

        In a fluent frost.





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