Fierce storms have wrecked havoc at the bach.

Savage spring sent ferocious gusts that tugged and ripped until all resistance was gone.

 Felled is the lofty kanuka that has stood for over 50 years a sentinel at the corner.

Who guards the guardians?

The tree was sound, with no trace of rot. Maybe it was slashed by lightning. Nature has many methods.

Savage spring has torn branches off younger trees and flung them casually over the pathways.

 Nikau fronds were whipped off and disdainfully cast through the inner sanctuary of the flax bush.

 But the same power is unsheathing the new season’s strong shoots,

driving weeds up through the pathways, scattering onion weed over the banks, 
bolting through broccoli and rocket, sending it to seed before it’s had time to produce,
filling the silver beet with dark nutrients,

 and finally, as if in an act of contrition, offering up a single flower.

There have been times when I too have been rent asunder, slashed and tattered.
Life, like nature, has its savage seasons. But nature also brings new life and new energy.  The blood of wounding is also the blood of regeneration.