In searing heat,
dry as ashes
swept from the hearth,
the riverbed bakes;
a clay oven.

Springtime crackles
through new-leafed branches,
rough wind rips at helpless limbs,
and the green leaves tumble,
whirl confused in twisting airs;
come rustling to a heartbeat’s rest,
and then to shatter
under the careless tread
of dusty boots.

Unschooled young leaves are
caught up in the tumult and the terror
of the plans and purposes of strangers:
aghast, even the cicadas
subside into silence.

© David Rose 2022


What inspired this extended metaphor was the unusual experience of hearing and feeling new green leaves crackle and shatter underfoot. Last year's spring was extremely hot (maximums of around 34 degrees C), and then we had windstorms that ripped new leaves from the trees. In the back of my mind were the ongoing stories of the abduction of schoolgirls by extremist rebels in Nigeria.