Yesterday I walked around the garden urging it not to get excited by such a Springlike day. It is, after all, still December. But during the night a hard frost was probably more effective than my whispered words!
We’re not done with Winter yet and that’s alright with me.
Oh, the wonder Of Winter trees. So noble and stark, Displaying only bark. What is it About a naked tree That so inspires me? Splendid in leaf Stunning in the Fall. So what is it About a tree, Standing proud Against a Winter sky? The colour of its skin? Its shape? Its form? Or is it the nobility, The endurance, That makes me sigh? I think I know, But cannot say for sure What About a naked tree It is that so stirs me... Fall winds done, And leaves shed, All God's creatures Fast abed. The naked Bard His soul is bared. Cold rain washes Nuded branches, The World takes on A drenched look. Last leaves clinging on, Only To be blown down By a harsh Winter gale. Then we get to see, The beauty of the tree. Branches long, Saluting, Forever to the sky Trunks, Smooth and sleek, Gnarled and knotty, Dense and fat, Some hollow... Home for a squirrel's nest Or owl, Or little boy's tree-house. An unclothed tree Proudly shows The may colours Of its kind. Stand back, behold Many shades of red and rust Of green and gray and dust. Some are just pure white. Ghost trees to me So beautiful to see. Past Winter's peak, Small buds will seek The pale sunlight That brings all back to life. Contemplate the land In Spring. Look hard at naked trees, And there you will see Nature reaching up Up, up Stretching tall To reach the Source That bears the spark of life. And soon once more They put back on their clothes. Wise bards whisper Back and forth Exchanging their tales. Be still And listen. You will hear them speak.