Through tumultuous gales,
I’ve braved the elements,
no windbreaker or survival implements to my name.
Sifting through the rubble,
picking up shards and junkyard waste,
aghast at fragments of who I was.
Rest lies in the transparent seasons of nature.
No omission of despair,
or need to conceal the truth.
Safety may be on the horizon,
one can never be too sure.
Looking past the glass and sheets of rain,
I finally see the truth.
It’s the one leaf on a barren November tree,
stuck to a spiders web.
Spinning frantically in the wind,
tethered to a strong branch,
unwilling to let go,
tree or leaf.
Gossamer thread holds them together,
just outside the possibility of a dream realized.
Tanja Tomlinson is a poet who lives in beautiful British Columbia with her husband and two young children. She is a nurse, belly dancer, nature and animal lover.