The green leaves
The turning autumn leaves
The branches barren from leaves

The strong dark bark
Initials and hearts with promises
carved into its thick skin.
The perfect curve of the branch,
bending but never breaking.
Taking our weight as we climb, sit, and bounce
Constantly testing its strength.

The passing cars
oblivious to the tree
hidden by rocks and neighboring branches.
Safeguarded by the promise of a tourist’s ignorant and focused eye.

The quiet rustle of a hunting coyote
The sweet melody of a Spring Robin
and the answer of a nesting squirrel.

The worn and weathered marble table.
The rusted water fountain that fails with each attempt.
I wonder who ever drank
from its bronze spout
in the woods.

On inhale:
the crisp, fresh air
and scent of miles of blooming apple trees.

Trusted family and friends
discovering a place
old and dear to me.