the tree paints blue fingers

the tree paints blue fingers


Thrust and gust winds withdrawn,
the tree paints blue fingers
on Winter snow,
hidings from the sun.
There is stillness here.
This is not cold,
it’s the warmth of a creator
in different hue.
This isn’t the blue of melancholy
depressed, forlorn and out of inspiration.
This is the blue of celebration
with bunting snow adornment
shouting for all to hear:
‘Behold, I make all things new’.