New Life Comes

By Jessica Morris-Reade

The darkness of winter is as interminable as eternity. The warmth of the sun seems so far away as to have burnt out, a candle at the end of its wick. At first, when autumn falls upon the land and caresses the still-warm ground with rainbows of leaves, we sigh blissfully and manage to endure the last vestiges of summer heat, sopping up what little moisture is left in the Earth and knowing that cool breezes are soon to come. But autumn is short and so are we, our lives entwined tightly with the seasons like constricting vines seeking the firmament. When winter arrives, it comes with a howling vengeance. Our leaves wither and shrink, flinching from the cold to fall at our feet in colourless blankets of loss.

It’s not forever we tell ourselves.

It won’t last.

Our heads bow, our backs bending under the weight of long nights and lightless days. Reassurances and supplications feel as empty as the cloud-choked skies—it will last. It is forever. Doves, wings thick with ice, drop dead from the boughs of the elder in the corner. Her leaves, evergreen, are anything but. She tries to flutter and shiver, to make the greenish-yellow blades fall but her indignity won’t release its grip.

I’m sorry she whispers.

I’m so ugly.

Bulbs beneath the ground, sedately hidden from view, turn away embarrassed. Infant seedlings, having separated from their mothers to await rebirth when the sun returns, giggle and snigger. The roses, foreshortened but patient, turn up their noses before falling back asleep.

But we, those left standing with our grey withered bodies exposed, simply nod.

Death is ugly we console.

But new life comes.

And it does. It’s shy, at first, the shining star that lights the world, her sheepish reserve telling us she’s sorry to have been away. But soon that melts along with the frost and her full glory is revealed. Most bask and groan in relief as juices and sap flow once again. Most. Later, the caretakers come, those begloved mavens of the garden who turn the Earth and awaken the soil. They fertilize the elder and revitalize her leaves until they glow with emerald intensity. They water the seedlings and bulbs, their shoots ploughing determinedly through the black loam. They nurture the roses, coaxing them out of their slumber with restoratives and tender care.

But death is ugly. We, the weeds who’ve wintered the seasonal chill, now are faced with the glacial hatred of the gardeners. One by one we are plucked from the ground, discarded and forgotten.

The thing is, the cyclical renewal of spring has no favourites, treasures no plant more than another. Our roots run deep and our memories long, neither can be plucked and eradicated forever. New life comes and us weeds are nothing if not resolute.

By Anthony Jones

Dilbert the Duck

Once upon a time, not so long ago, when the town of Redbrook was still woods, and the sky was blue and the trees were green, there lived a family of ducks in a clearing... For so many years the blue water was still, The rains would come, and the pools would fill. This hideaway of ducks was a beautiful scene, But then all of sudden, their water turned green. You see, day after day a new family came, With a bag full of bread, that fell just like rain. But unlike all the other ducks around, Dilbert really didn’t like the sound. As other ducks ate quickly, Dilbert simply sat, He saw this bread they had started eating, was making them fat. In fact, Dilbert hated this daily event, You see, Dilbert was gluten intolerant. The bread on offer made him feel unwell, his head would hurt, his insides would swell. Unlike other ducks, Dilbert had dreams that weren’t just about bread, Dilbert had dreams about something different instead. I hear you ask, what was Dilbert’s dream?

Well, of clearing up the water and building a home up the stream. Then one day came along small sweet Elouise, With a delightful gift, a bag full of peas. Soon all the ducks of Redbrook swam with delight, The water became clear, as if just overnight. You see, the bread was unnatural, and had turned their water green, But people can help make the water more clean. And after this change, Dilbert swam around with delight, The water was clear, and the future looked bright. So next time you’re in the park, and you’re visiting Dilbert the duck, Feed him delicious corn, seeds or peas, and wish him good luck. His home could be perfect but there is still much to do, And keeping his dream possible, well that’s up to you...