Do you remember trees?
Sentinels for children’s games,
Guardians of air.
Roots burrowing through soil and rock,
Drinking deeply into Earth’s center.
Branches, like leafy fingers cradling sky;
Tickling it, at times, when wind blows.
Softly stroking it at others.
Dressed in spring-jade ball gowns.
Viridian and lime in summer.
And then, just before winter seres its branches,
Trees will turn out in party clothes:
Layers of scarlet come first,
followed by lemon and orange.
They drop their leaves like hankies,
Waiting for us to come along and pick them up,
Raking them into piles for jumping, or
Spreading them into outlines of houses
On fading grass,
Creating rooms and halls like an architect’s plans.
And when we are done with the houses,
Done with leaf-pillows-for jumping,
The trees gather up their hanky-leaves like skirts
Curling them away until sap flows again,
Or setting them free on autumn wind.
And we pull on sweaters,
Warm up cups,
And sit at windows watching flakes
Like bits of lace through frozen air.
Remembering trees.
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