– George L Stein

It’s in the spontaneity of the wind
when the tree, reluctant, bares it’s soul
branches dance and leaves spin
especially under extorts of fall

There are no physics to this gift
no predictive elements to seize
the black frame glasses come tumbling off
madam librarian awkwardly falls away

Oh, how the wind heaves and blows
against her claws and protestations
and animates what was so carefully tucked away
on all those endless, quiet library days

A falcon hovers at the edge of the field
unspoken fear, comes the day when
the poet has no more poems to say, the musician
has no more songs to play, regardless of the vagaries of the wind

The tree breaks it silence, betrays it’s oath
leaves, branches dance and damn the cold
there were so many things we meant to say
before we took the time to play

But we grew old
and bare

An iPhone Photo Journal documenting A Year in the Life of That Tree

photo credit – Mark Hirsch

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