I look for a red giant tonight.
A star late in its stellar evolution.
In a cloud that’s not a cloud.
How old we are. How we want
a supernova ending. How difficult is dying.
The solstice came, the days lengthen and
winter blows colder winds, but tree man,
a gentle soul, not a horror legend,
holds on to his brown autumn coat,
guarding the creek, watching me grow old.
after many autumns, winters and final fall
is rings – a dendrochronology of historical context,
environmental conditions, and possible future issues.
Earlywood, latewood, drought year, wet year, diseases –
no soul, but a body outliving life.