in a glass vase roses

in a glass vase roses --

petals fallen -- sprouting

new leaves from cut stems

Yellow roses for a birthday ceremony have been living in a glass vase on our dining table for two weeks. Before the petals began to wither, I was surprised to see leaf buds appearing along the stems. By the time the petals fell off, new leaves began sprouting.

I have never seen this happen, cut roses growing new leaves. No roots on the cut ends. Yet water is surging up the the stems, turning to sap, feeding this revival.

Devoid of petals, the center of the blossom reveals its hidden beauty.

It seems like a miracle, but perhaps this unexpected vigor is simply the result of these roses being grown organically.

Each sunny remnant is surrounded by five sepals, like a green star. Yesterday, as the old year ended, my uncle passed away. And now, on this first day of the new year, I reflect on how life springs anew from what appears to be dead roses.

waking on New Year's day

waking on New Year's day

to frigid air filled with light snow,

vandalized mailboxes

Happy New Year! Someone must have gotten pretty drunk last night and decided, like the guy in One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, to vandalize mailboxes all along Glasgow Road. I can hear him gloating, "Ten in one blow, man!"
          They look like they're bowing down, all their mouths open, a couple of pieces of mail lying white in the white snow, and our red tray, to make it easier to extract the mail, hanging out like a disembodied tongue.
          Second time this has happened in recent years. Sheriff came out to view the damage, but not much they can do to catch the culprit. Going to be expensive to replace all those mailboxes and new posts. Wonder how that guy would feel if it was HIS mailbox!

cold wind from the north

cold wind from the north

blowing away dead leaves, gray 

clouds, brittle branches --

in the lacuna between 

clouds and earth, a golden glow

New Year's Day, 2012, temperatures hover around freezing, but a strong northwest wind makes it feel twice as cold. The arctic wind roars all day, sweeping away the old, opening space for the new. Last year's dead leaves leap across the road. Brittle branches cartwheel to the ground. A flock of gray-belly clouds scurry south. As the first day of the new year blows away, the sun hurries to its western bed. Then into the lacuna between clouds and Earth, a golden glow arcs over a golden dome, suffusing the sky, the day, the coming year.