Ibis Nights with the Goddess Pomona

Oh, I was so ready for the time change, the sun still high in the sky and casting its rays upon the Goddess. Unsurprising, really, that the only thing in bloom would be the Redbud growing upright, next to her. Proximity makes all the difference, I guess. Was it a touch, or merely a gaze, that burst color from its branches? Surely she shall grace the Farm next:

"...They knew Pomona had passed by in state,

For on the apples was a rosier blush,

And on the grapes a richer lustre born." (Scollard)

Nearby, within a whispers walk, a giant was laid low, a ram tipped upside down in his wake. I questioned whether they were the detritus of some epic, homeric conflict, each at the end of life and suffering a dismantling, a decomposition. The giant tipped forward, resting on rigid toes and shoulders shorn of thoughtful head, arms splayed back and to side, four points of contact with the earth of which it sprung. The ram, a tripod on horns and back, legs straight up in mortification at the death at the hands of a headless one. 

Or, maybe they are yet to be raised, perhaps even by that same breath bringing life to the Redbud, by the rays of a longer sun.