I think of the trees

Sometimes I think of the trees in the forest
each rooted in its own spot there to live it’s life

in winter awaiting the flow of the sap
to unfold an array of leaves

none of which is in the shade
always reaching higher

then flowers nuts and seeds
and the sprouts carpeting the forest floor

and in the fall leaves
rustling underfoot making new soil

branches overhead
brattling in the breeze

fractal patterns against the sky
I sometimes think of the trees.

Zphx 20190221

CAN YOU IMAGINE? For example, what the trees do not only in lightning storms or the watery dark of a summer night or under the white nets of winter but now, and now, and now-whenever we're not looking. Surely you can't imagine they just stand there looking the way they look when we're looking; surely you can't imagine they don't dance, from the root up, wishing to travel a little, not cramped so much as wanting a better view, or more sun, or just as avidly more shade-surely you can't imagine they just stand there loving every minute of it; the birds or the emptiness, the dark rings of the years slowly and without a sound thickening, and nothing different unless the wind, and then only in its own mood, comes to visit, surely you can't imagine patience, and happiness, like that. ~ Mary Oliver