The Wisdom of Trees

Branches brush their velvety, mossy fingers

evoking a rhythm of the beat of nature’s heart,

a breeze blows and a gentler pace breathes.


A storm grows and they scratch and drum, 

with fearful passions striving forward to peace.


They chant the songs of the seasons, and

break out new living leaves, that birth in 

bright greens falling to die in gold and yellow,


delighting the eyes of those who look, and

filling the ready minds with the knowledge

of their own destination with the deep peace

of knowing, that we share a soul cycle of

life that begets life; and the sensible stop



listen to the centuries of wisdom gathered

in their roots, where gentle voices are always

speaking, in low murmurs that only those

listening may hear above the susurrous

of daily living; crowding our cluttered minds.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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