The Cherry Tree

To crown the foil of window's questioning disclosure and an afterthought—the ready sweep of old terrain that would not seek completing, only slept in still reflection of the passing hooves returning from the wars, the lesser footfall of the deer to gain the forest just beyond, the baking of the sun...the years deluding... This was only heritage, encapsulating ghosts, but yet prepared to raise a living monument, a friend to feast the eye, the body, so contain each memory within a morsel's succulence as its own sacrament, bright red and clinging to a disappearing past. Then with a triple grace, the tree ascended, fashioned from the vision of a mind that saw the little slope reborn as one observing, reaches back into his heritage, illumining the trail with purest loveliness pursued, and finally in death, its richest wood as offering to frame the instruments of art. The thought is framed as is the view outside the cabin window...longed for even as fulfillment of an old desire. Its fruit is of the years embedded in the transcience of a hope forseen on shipboard long ago. Step across the time with me and seek the cherry tree. ~