they’re not the cottonwoods

or live oaks from my childhood

climbing trees and leafy hideaways

where library books

and pb&js were squirreled away

on long summer days

no they are trees unfamiliar to me

standing watch over my doorway

in the last home of my life

where I will spend long summer days

with books and pb&js

squirreled away in their shade

The Consolation of Trees

The Consolation of Trees

In midwinter,
When the sap begins to rise
The cycle begins
With the change in sun and light
Seasons of growth
A swelling of bud and bloom
Then fruit and seed
With the turning of the earth
The light dims
And the release of leaves
A letting go

Does the tree grasp and cling to flower and fruit?
Does it grieve the last leaf to fall?
Does it weep in the knowledge
Of life to death to life again?

The tree knows only
The newness of eternal spring
That with each turn of the earth
The cycle begins again
And again
A letting go