All dressed up and nowhere to go... I seek one last vestige of being
before the last dance.
Stout shoulders harbor
the longings of my future.
I steal away,
alone and restless,
to live long on my hillside,
protected, growing, resolute.
I wander into the closet
of winter's prevailing mode,
a certain change in my glow
relinquishes to languor,
listless and uncommitted,
I ride each storm.
Stark in contrast,
weathered bones cold
from harsh seasons past,
this clandestine journey
germinates into a grand fortress,
one single trunk
bearing the branches of self...
May I have this dance...
As Scratchy and I were driving through 'Weed Park' looking for fall shots, this single maple tree, glowing through the keyhole of oaks, caught my eye. The camera caught the image perfectly, but the nearness of winter and getting older, prompted me to thought. Changing seasons, cold, death in the winter, lifeless, giving time to reflect as we are locked away, I couldn't wait to write about it through my eyes.
