The wind floats through my
fingers, tickling my sticky skin.
My children fall to
grow up strong or
become fodder for the
small, nimble creatures
that scramble up and down
the length of me,
my family, and friends.

The air soon turns cold
and frozen water falls from
the sky. My friends lose
their green and turn
the color of fire, but I
stay the same, even as
the biting cold shakes
their shivering skeletons.

Sometimes hairless bears
meander through our
home, making funny
noises far less pleasant
than that of our bright
winged friends that
sing jubilant phrases from
high atop our arms.

I wonder what they see,
those graceful spirits that
glide through the air
and clouds above. I
wish I were as free as
they; with wings to take
me far up towards the sun.