Planting Trees
Pine needles bow in the wind,
considerate hosts, as I enter the brief forest.
Pine cones throw their great bodies with effort
from the branches, following their acorn cousins
down into the soft earth. Even the sun slips
lower in the sky, vying for a peak at the busy scene
below the treeline.
As if in rebellion, or unfettered hope,
the silvery sigh of an exhale hangs in the
winter air before me, takes one weary
look around, and ascends the spiral staircase
through the trees, up, up into the clouds above.
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