Have you ever wondered at bird-pairs who perch serenely and timelessly on the branches of tress outside your home, even when those trees are themselves at their final breathes of life, as the marrow of their existence is being leached out from beneath?

The death of a bamboo grove is not to be trivialized. Bamboo by their very nature is hardy and resilient, and longevity is a hallmark of this ubiquitous grass, to the extent that culturally, its demise often portends misfortune – a bad omen. Some have pointed to the flowering of the bamboo as a terminal event in the life-cycle of the plant – a thriving bamboo does not flower – so the flowering of a bamboo grove is considered a gasp for survival before an impending demise.

Yet, the idea that in a fallen tree does not just die in the flora ecosystem but persist beyond its nominal (in the ‘lens of humans’) life-span has been described elsewhere and briefly mentioned in this blog.

It seemed our bamboo grove did flower mysteriously on hindsight before its long-drawn demise. However, the proximate event that appeared to have triggered this death was a massive lightning strike that occurred in a stormy afternoon, that blew the housing off our motorized gate control, shut down the power supply momentarily for the street, and gave my elderly Labrador an electrostatic surge and a paranoia that she never quite recovered from thereafter. Presumably, the roots of the bamboo were killed in the brief but electrifying storm.

In any case, these pictures show the inevitable evidence that the end was near for a much beloved bamboo grove, that we had mercilessly pruned in its earlier vigour as it threatened to overrun the stately Mediterranean palm and delicate peacock trees.

It is easy to wax lyric about an inevitable loss, but there was a time when I thought the grove will be there forever, like any thing else that was a beacon of stability, strength and normality, much like the teak table in the dinning room. And we do anchor our lives around that stability and routine, as if the long summer day would never end. Yet life in its transitions, and we the migratory birds, are on a journey. The predictability of the ending, like the beginnings, are not a given.

The image of the placid birds on a dying bamboo grove must surely be a source of encouragement, to adapt to the changing circumstances, the unexpected, to navigate the turmoil of the elements, and seek the comfort of shelter, warmth and peace in the home that will always reside deep within our hearts.

“You never know what will happen tomorrow: You are no more than a mist that appears for a little while and then disappears” (James 4:14)

Lumix G85; Zuiko 40-150mm; 75-300 mm; 2017