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.
From up here, the treetops are brushstrokes.
Swaying shadows shade places secluded under colors.
A known river runs beneath this canvas –
but not today – while a distant fire
is the softwood incense for my meditation.
all the trees here had leaves again.
The young and the ancient, sap moving,
breathing, throwing pollen to the soft wind.
Amazed joy in the limitless sky and
in the blink of a hummingbird’s eyelid.
The Earth spins more than a thousand m.p.h.
and I feel that dizzying speed today,
though I fix my gaze upon trees
deeply rooted, the clouds are moving fast.
I clutch the railing, but I’m rising.
The red Japanese maple outside my window
dropped all its leaves and accepted winter.
Inside, its bonsai brethren is holding on
to what we call spring, winter, summer.
It knows two seasons – awake and asleep.
The trees are moving outside my window.
A silent movie all about autumn ending.
Yellow leaves where green, red and orange
were a few days ago. Winter wind.
In black and white, an unsure season.