Canvas

Looking up, you see
a tracery of pines
pattern the canvas,
stitching their design
into your summer afternoon.
Only a sliver of daylight
hints at blue sky
where other pines grow tall,
their needles dancing in the wind
reaching towards the sun.

You prefer the shade,
comfortably cool,
restful,
yet know you cannot see
the world outside this canvas shelter,
just a glimpse of sky,
faint cry of birds,
hint of sun's heat.

Shaded,
listening to the rustling of pines
swaying above,
you wonder what
would become of you
if you went out,

and stood still
looked straight up into the sky,
watched pine needles
sparkling with silver
knit themselves
to forest,
mountains,
whitest snow.

Would you cast a shadow
all your own?
Even at noonday,
would it pull down
beneath your feet,
hold you
to the earth's core,
so that the world would
spin around you,
horizon curving,
in a tapestry of colors
rippling in the evening breeze?

That sliver of sky beckons
in blue promise,
till you feel the cool air of morning
call you to open your shade
to a new day.