Trees on the Wing
Previous Home Next



Stopping by trees

I pass the trees each morning—
They call to me,
whispering in my ear
as trucks rush by,
they wave dark branches at me,
and I look, longingly
at how they reach through clouds
to touch the glowing sky,
or silver themselves at sunrise
when grass frosts
in early morning dew,
then greens at their feet in sunlight
—that impossible green
alight with all growing things—
and in late afternoon,
they turn dark, their arching shapes
filled with mystery
as clouds rimmed with gold
wash the hills with fading light.
I love them in spring
when they green,
and in summer, when hills bronze,
and grasses glow and dance
around their silhouettes.
They steal my heart,
out there on the horizon,
wide as my dreams,
pulsing with hidden life.

And at 55 I skim by them
each day, wishing for a place to stop,
to look up into their branches,
climb up in their embrace.
I pass them by
in continuous regret,

wondering whose rules I obey
that keep me in my lane,
following the speed limit,
a respectful distance
from the cars ahead,
or on the side.
Until that one day,
when grass is just too green,
sky too blue,
and branches line the grass
with silken shadows,
and hawk soars toward
clouds filled with light
and I slow,
pull over onto the shoulder,
come to a stop,
my heart beating hard.
I slide the sunroof open,
ease myself, my camera, up
through the opening I have made,
till I can see it,
the tree still
centered in horizon and bright clouds,
and I frame the tree just so,
steady camera on the sunroof,
snap the shutter
knowing I have brought the tree
into my heart at last,
answered its call
with my own song.
Now as I drive the highway,
I feel the shoulder is mine
and regrets are for other times,
other roads,
but not the one I follow
here and now.

WomenCanDoIt Home | A Mother's Poems | Trees on the Wing | Island Songs |Reef Dance | Healing Poems | Image Galleries

Freedom Poems | Poems about poetry | Poems of the camera eye |Garden poems| Fairytale poems |
Goddess poems
| Circus poems

Cat Door, Place des Vosges
| Red Dress, Place Vendome | on the road poems

Yosemite poems |Ghost Ranch Companion

 © 2005, Lenore Horowitz