Even in the midst of winter here, when reptiles sleep and insects are quiet,
tiny, pink leaves emerge in search of sun,
slowly maturing against the chill, blue sky,
defying expectations of colonial Brits in history books.

Even now, as systems collapse over tipping points and the end of truth,
little ideas unfurl as surprise seedlings,
stretching high to draw minds out of the dirt,
disrupting assumptions implanted by malignant lies.