Hematic Verity

Like capillaries the green, thorny twigs fans out and intertwine with the limbs of the young oak beside it. Across the top, a fallen branch nestles itself among the flowers alighting the tips of almost transparent limbs, as if to drain what's left of the bright fauna, ensuring no further bloom. The wet and soggy brown leaves contrast the colors of life, illustrating more fully its frailty. The thick spotted wood like dead tissue left over from a stroke. The neurological implications of which leave everything confused and muddled. The dark leaves like blood clots ready to be moved off further downhill at the strong push of some foreign force, like crimson liquid shooting out of the left ventricle as it makes its rounds. The youthful tree supporting all this weight is bowed like an old woman suffering from an arthritic attack. Removing the dead skin would prove useless it seems; already it has tied itself up and attached parts of its being like a hungry cancer intent on devouring healthy cells. Above the sky is clear and unfettered as if just waiting for the oak to snap its neck upwards and glance at the possibilities and straighten its spine so that is stands tall and proud amongst is fellow struggling life forms.