Writing

The Tree


The Tree

I stand upon the grass

Barefoot and rooted

Feeling the shape

Of the land as I

A young sapling, freshly planted

Establish a presence

Before me stretch the years

An image caught on camera

A time lapse montage

As dusk bleeds to dawn and the sun

And moon arch and chase across the sky

Rain, wind and clouds

White, dark, wispy, pendulous

Until the rolling seasons

Collapse into a seared image

Branded in the bark and bent

From the wind

My place secure

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2 thoughts on “The Tree

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