cotoneaster brilliance


Unless you’re crushed, you cannot be poured,

Unless you’re struck, we can’t hear your chord;

Unless you’ve bled, you can’t feel my pain;

Unless you freeze, your colours are plain. 


It is only after the frost that our world puts on a show. 

Hang in there – your best is yet to come….

Going Bare

clematis seedhead


She slips out of silk, chiffon

garments dropping to the floor

in silent summer sighs like

flower petals. Leaving them

where they fall, she fingers her

wardrobe with a practised hand,

stopping briefly at her warm

wool suit, dismissing it as

too formal, too restrictive.

Dissatisfied, fingers trace

the rack again and again –

this too plain, this too last year,

that too wintry for autumn

sun. A thought strikes. Mirth tugs at

the corners of her ruby

lips as she wriggles brilliant

toenails into a leafy

carpet. “I’ll do it!” she grins.


You Were Born to Beauty

You were born to beauty,

destined for greatness,

but since your Ice Age,

you positively glow.

Subtle changes in your DNA

translate red into ruby,

yellow to gold.

Pressurized by pain,

flash-frozen by distress,

fired in the furnace of Fate,

orange becomes copper,

blah becomes bling!

The frost becomes you, little one –

lift up that golden head,

wipe tears from cherry cheeks.

You were born to beauty…


Frost brings out all of the season’s best colours – is there a life lesson hidden in those rainbow-gem leaves?