A poem to celebrate dirty finger nails!

and letting old traditions go … 

The  bay tree in its winter garb.
Green leaves had lost their summer lustre.
Its branches thick and twisted with age.
As I sawed and cut so brutally
so the sun quite warm in the winter solstice
brought light
I breathed the rich perfume.
Unceremoniously crammed the remains
into the recycling bin.
Noticed my finger nails usually clean and trim
were not so
Funny, I didn’t find the need to scrub
them yet…