Trees in Season

Trees in Season

A panorama of trees crowd
on top of a hill.
Standing upright with arms outstretched
reaching toward the sky.
They seek the Heavenly Artist who brushes
them.
Gold, rust, yellow from His
palette.
Soon their splendor will be gone.


Standing in winter an emaciated
populace turned to skeletons.
Their brown bones iced.
Nubs and holes in their bodies become scars
Discarded homes from a more fruitful time.



Sunbeams will meet their mark on tall,
thin woods.
Rays cast meager shadows on a white,
glossy-print snow.