Great White Pine

Trees, gently swaying in the spring breezes bedazzle

Outside my windows

Still buds cascade

Down the ends of branches

Waiting for the right moment to burst forth

Hesitant, unsure

Whether tomorrow will bring greater warmth

Or, a foot of snow,

Like in 1995, on May 7th,

Here in these hills.

 

A few songbirds fly past the windows at

Dawn, still,

Their songs are rare.

 

A lovely spring place

On this ridge evokes, whispering to me like a lover,

A soft spongy spot, where there is the most beautiful white pine,

A tree absolutely perfect in form.

 

All this tells me much about The Great Mystery

Unfurling, unfolding, carefully and delicately,

Each bud, each leaf,

Paying necessary attention to the other

To the self, to

Whither, we all are,

In this place where oxygen is a necessity.

 

©  Susan Lynn Gesmer

1990/2019

 

 

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