Fruitful

A sturdy, two-pronged twig – not sturdy enough obviously - hangs suspended in mid-plunge, a smaller twig supporting it in the intersection of the two prongs.

Despite stormy weather, tender points of incipient buds mark the bare cherry branches. Warming rays tease and tempt the tree towards springtime splendour and summer fruit.

The broken twig, though, hangs smooth and sleek. No sap will rise to feed its points where flower and fruit might have one day swelled, had the storm not broken it away from the trunk.

And still the wind whines and whips, as Storm Dennis stalls above. The disconnected twig swings and sways, supported by the living twig on which it rests. Amputated as it is from the trunk, though, the twig will never bear fruit.

‘No branch will bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me,’ Jesus said.

A word to us all. Jesus advised that by their fruits, we would know who people really are. In an age of easy, lying words, look at the fruit.