Skeleton amid the green

After heaping up a pile of onion weed that I'd pulled out of the bach garden, I discovered a leaf: a perfect skeleton. I knew at once it had come from the mahoe tree, for its leaves have this habit of decaying to leave behind their lacy bones.
I placed it on top of the pile of juicy weeds, and reflected on the contrast. I thought of Christchurch, where in the season of spring, such devastation struck. In a time that should be about greening, hope, and new life, old buildings have been shaken to piles of rubble, and in some places the ground has even liquified. Even here, in the safety of the north, amidst the rush of regenerating life, reminders of mortality float down and lightly leave their mark.