Photograph by Lesley Wellman; see the video of this poem and photo below.

battered
but the truth is
beautiful
old
but holding on
cold and brittle
but giving warmth
the warm gold
glowing out from within
and the rasping but
reassuring whisper in the wind
soothing the weary
worried or wounded
visitor to the wood
saying
you are not alone
saying
not all is lost

all this
plus the promise of the bud
just behind
and then comes the
ice storm
the suffocating weight
and
will it break you
will your twig fall
will your mold shatter
on the glazed snow
amid all the other litter of the storm

or
will you find it in you
to endure
until the inevitable thaw
and having given the hard casing
your shape and contours
the very tracing of your veins
will you slip it
off shed it
and let it
drop like a molting feather
like an artist’s dream
of freedom cast in crystal
that says
I was here
that says
this is what I made
of what I had to bear