Speaking in Mirrors

Spring

It is early morning; the odd chirrup fractures the silence of the neighbourhood.  After countless days of thundery winds, dreary skies, and pools of rain, the sun is finally out.

There is a cherry tree in the backyard, it has a broken branch.  The branch has turned back onto itself.  Its wrinkled skin strains at the bend.  At the break, splinters of tough bark peel backwards exposing dark rot at its core.  The rearward branch leans onto a smaller upright bough; its two forked twigs hooked around the slighter crumpled limb. Freckles of reddish-purple buds adorn the tree.  Spring has arrived.