Oak, Moss, Jekyll Island

Live Oak, emphasis on the Live, hundreds of years older than me, bolder than me, demystifying history through skin and bark. So, what am I at 70?--an eager pup, wired to write. So, what are you, old stoic? gorilla of silence--grandeur noblisse'd to guard the silence. Ghosted in moss, you are perennial Christmas, garlanded in gauze by airy, deep-breathing conquistadors who came to take, and stayed to give their gray-on-gray, until eyes surprised by bright green vines, find, like me, homing space in a provident place. How I love this coast, this barrier island, this weathered retreat of the millionaire's boast! Yet, oaks, unimpressed, stretch beyond miniscule balconies, where sitting, I have a life to seize, a day unwritten.