It's a Slow Dance

It's a Slow Dance

The trees are posing majestically 

In a standing salutation

Reaching, reaching, limbs akimbo 

Spring has come this day.

The maples spark up to the sky

This is their time

Festooned in red

They proclaim the ancient revival.

The oaks are waiting for the sun

To coax their sap
To rise, to shine
To layer wood upon their girth
More patiently than the growth below;

Sassafras saplings gather green
While tangy spicebush stand in the damp
Dogwoods open, blush, and show
As daggered greenbrier ramble about,
All flashing bright and verdant bold
In their romance with our brightest star.

This is a dance your welcome to
The steps are slow, the pace is honest
To see them move and gambol about
Sit patiently, with open heart
Beneath a woodland tree.

-P. Sanderson

What You Leave Behind

What You Leave Behind

There is a tree

In Cheeseman Park, Denver, Colorado
That I carved my initials into
Circa June, 1970.

I want you to find it
And ask the tree
To not think less of me.

The unfortunate truth
Is that we are all scarred
So, look for the tree
And maybe you will know a little more of me.

Colorado was a wild tumbleweed waystation
And I was focused on my shallower self
Swiss army knife in hand
With no concern, not much
For your skin my friend
I just wanted to memorialize in the smooth bark
Those moments...
Make them come to full stop.

I had faith in your grey skin
That it would heal strong and bear witness
And that you would curate my marks.

Truth be known at this stop down the line
That those marks mean less
Than the whole of the tree,
And its persistent living and generous breathing,
As trees are nothing
If not tolerant gifts
To you and me.

-P. Sanderson

Persistence

The sycamores come earthward soon
They say goodbye and tawny down
They are not shy nor do they tease.
Their story is of letting go
Of what was once flushed bright in green
They give up and accept their change.
 
The maples hang by threads up high
As if to say “just one more day.”
And so I am amused by them
Turning red, then brown, then down
These sunsets beckon us goodbye
Once blushed against the cobalt sky
Their story is of holding on
Fearful of the days to come.
 
The beech persists throughout the year
They carve their names upon the heart
Both green and brown are seen above
They charm us with their dignity
Leaves rattle against the wind and cold
Their story is so often told
New life is born out of the old
By holding tight then letting go.

 

Sparks into the Sky

The trees are blushing this morning.
A sudden burst of early light
Has revealed them
Strutting modestly
In their flaming foliage
Mature in their nature
Radiant in their exuberance
Dancing close to the fire
They throw sparks into the sky
Without a care
Without a care.