Trees forcefully stretched towards the eastern sky.
Timeless winds prevail, they mightily gust and howl.
They continue to bully the brown barked armored one.
Perhaps each day winning, even if by the millimeter.

Long slendered roughly textured bases.
Covered with a bright green moss on the cooler side, the shady side.
Feet rooted deeply into the soil which serves as its lifeline.
Making every branch that much more full, more robust.
Every leaf as green as jade, like the suit of a leprechaun.

Limbs at times if looked upon closely enough,
limbs that appear to reach the sun and clouds.
Wrapping themselves around each star, each moon.
Hugging them and thanking them for their galactic beauty.

A place of shelter and refuge for our feathered friends.
Riding out every storm in nested homes.
The aerie, the place they call their own.
Of straw, of mud and grass their castle in the sky.

A place of rest for metal cylinders.
Tied together in hopes of the wind kissing them.
This strange arrangement begins to sing.
It sings a melody to soften the hardest ear.

Where the catcher of dreams never sleeps.
It lies awake there, hanging, willow hooped.
Webbed like a spiders lair.
This one oddly enough has feathers.

Protecting its owner from nightmares.
The ones that eventually fade in the light of day.
Good dreams pass through sliding down the decorative feathers.
To comfort and nestle its unknowing sleeper.

That weathered tree will always live on.
Connecting all forms of creation.
Worldly and cosmic.
Uniting the earth with the heavens until there is no more.