Supple

An east wind blows
and it is not so much ill
as interesting,
creating fresh garden shapes, 
revealing new vistas.

There’s something different about you!
I call to the trees,
as if to a friend who cut her hair. 

Branches sweep up and over,
leaves reveal their underside, 
the whole garden leans, bows, 
as if honouring some new truth.

The world looks askew.
There is sky in new places,
curves of hill I’ve never seen before.
Whatever you’ve done, I like it! 

Strange winds blow from time to time.
turning us to face things not yet seen.
New places are found, 
new horizons sighted,
how supple we are as we bend.