Sunday, November 13, 2016

The Comfort of Trees

Since I was a child, I have found myself looking out of windows, looking for the sanctuary of trees. In the summer I would climb in their branches, and observe the world around me. I would lay on the ground and look up at the patterns the branches and leaves wove against the sky. In the winter I look for lacy silhouettes, as the sun moves southerly and sinks, casting twilight. I don't know why. I can't stand to look out a window without seeing the sheltering arms of my trees. They are such a comfort.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016


The breath of newborn words are cast out into the silence
Shattering its mirrored surface, into a thousand tiny shards.
Ripple upon ripple builds, until the breath becomes a shout,
Stirring as a butterfly catalyzing storms.

I am a Starling caught in the murmuration of the flock,
Winging to and fro, as indecision casts its spell.
I am subject to the wills of the wind, and mercurial tides,
pushed and pulled in the murmuration of life.