Beneath the surface

Few will look or care to see

Hidden stars shining

It has been there for months, part of the structure of a garden I see every day. It was the rain, darkening the fibres, that showed me the beauty of the wood. I wonder how such a pattern could form within a living tree, saddened that its heart is only revealed in death.

I wonder too at the dark irony that dismembers living beauty to serve our need to recreate a pale reflection, tamed to our hand.

Spark of life within

Cloistered in each living heart

Blossoming unseen

For Colleen’s poetry challenge