Raise the head, close the eyes, breath in and test the air.
Feel the sun come out from behind a cloud, the breeze gives a kiss on the forehead, a caress through the hair.
Let the breath out, loud in the ears.
The sun heats the breast, almost too hot on the black t-shirt.
Open the eyes and look down at the tree. The bonsai. Dwarf tree, twisted.
Old as sin, seemingly, but young as the spring grass after a rain. Verdant, gnarled, ancient, new.
The sun flashes off the glazed ceramic vessel wherein the tree lives.
Hand falls over the scissors, curling into the handle.
Grasp, test, the feel in the hand, the cool steel and wrought shape compels a few practice snips.
Raise them towards the tree.
And begin.
