Great tress manicured;
Cut and shaped to fit lest they overgrow
Space allotted them.
Cut the branch,
Rake the leaves.
Make it look like they never let go a mess to
The old and become
Stronger and taller.
Invisible cages even for them,
The mighty oaks.
Still they keep straining to grow to their full potential so naturally;
Roots creeping underneath us all as we go
About this and that.
This and that.
From a challenging yet refreshing hike
Never seem to drink enough water.
I am too distracted by beauty that catches my eyes.
I get tickled by these things.
Even the snakes. They terrify my but I cannot stop looking and wondering.
Bumble bees and wasps.
Spiders and caterpillars.
Hawks and vultures.
The different trees and different leaves.
The greens and the blues, the grays and the browns.
And the way is rocky so I have to stop quite often and gaze otherwise
I might trip and fall a very long way.
Then I stay up too late watching the
Fireflies dance in the forest.
They never cease to make me giggle with delight.
They mesmerize me.
My eyes trying to focus between the dark
And the light of their
I cannot even guess where they may light up
So I try not to blink leaving my eyes to soften
Without looking at one point.
My moods waning from here to there.
The dog whimpers in her sleep
And I wonder was it a good whimper or is
Disturbing going on in her dream?
I walk to the door and open it
As if welcoming some unseen guest.
Is it merely air that i need?
My imagination being of no steadfast company
To me this day.
And words, well
They are all crashing in my brain,
And as quickly as they come,
So here I am standing, staring into the trees
Waiting for some big
All I can think of is you.
Once again you have saved me and I cannot
Bring breath to the why or how.
The noise of traffic drowns out the sound
Of birds singing at my windowsill.
The silent strength of the trees remains rooted
Walking the old river bed,
How often has the course changed?
How often the boulders
Worn to rocks
Worn to pebbles
Worn to dust?
The river carries them on,
How often the roots of mighty trees exposed,
They held on until
Nothing left for them to grasp,
They succumb to the way
And float on?
How often no man stands to witness the
Of the fall?
With the river
To the sea.
Old riverbeds remain and regrow from tiny
Seed to become mighty trees
In time forgetting the river.
I wonder if solitary trees
Ever get lonely.
I imagine their roots going great
Lengths beneath our feet to
Sensing the need through
Distance and dreams to feel,
To entwine wholly.
Looking up through the trees
I am reminded