You stand there in the wind
leaves dropped to the ground
and blown away running
down a sea of earth
as you stand sun drenched
in bark on the grey tone scales
reminding me of aged ivory
piano keys that sing a
well tuned melody you
your melody rises as
I watch the curves
and turns of your
outstretched branches
always finding a way
to turn back upwards
on their journey.
My eye stops here and there
at gnarled knots that have
given way to hiding places
for children's marbles,
bird feather and ants--
treasures I see when
I stand closer, but
watching from a distance
it is like the knots on hands
which have become rheumatoid
after years and years of nurturing
or writing out words, or running
one's fingers over keys swiftly
or holding a brush dripping with color.
You are so fine standing there
against the blue white clouded sky
weaving its way between your branches
kissing you with the oxygen of life.
I can not see your roots, but if I could
I am sure that they grow deep down
in the ground and can survive
no matter what the storm.
When spring comes small peeks
of sage green will bud and nestle
within your branches and birds
will find home there to sing to you
the promise of another spring
come soon, come soon.