At a time of year when minds are buzzing, feet are tramping, when all around is confusion and grief, you stand thee proudly, as steadfast as you always are. Unyielding, you continue to thrust up to the icy blue sky. Your branches, like tentacles, reach out to passers-by, offering comfort like the embrace of a long-lost lover. With the will of a wisp, you sign, and I almost miss it.
I cling to your heart, straight and sturdy, rough to the touch like an armadillo crust. Woody and damp, summer scents are no more. Hoar frost sparkles in the midday sunshine, masking your nakedness for a short while, like the fur which coats the antlers of a deer then falls away.
Soon the cycle will repeat: tiny buds becoming blooms. Then the rhythm of spring takes hold; leaves unfold and once again we will marvel at the gift of life.
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