Morning Poem, August 25, 2015

Look at the light

The sunlight on the lush branches

They nod in the morning breeze

Green bright.


The finest stems of the old trees

That brush against the sky

Mark every passing zephyr

This is morning; this is autumn.


Remember the tall birches in Taos

Those that the rich man had brought from the east

And watered every day for a generation?

They stood higher than all else around

Their groomed trunks perfectly vertical

Their shade dappling the adobe houses and adobe walls.


They rustled in the breezes of summer mornings

As if disturbed or roused by some spirit

Tangled in their branches.

And the cool scent of the mountain pines

Was transporting.  Was the promise of a renewed Earth.


Copyright 2015

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