Wednesday, May 23, 2012

The color is red

She spreads her arms
measures the age of the redwood,
She doesn’t think
of lightning strikes, heavy downpour 
of rain and snow on its branches, ample 
shade, abundant ferns and creatures
She is absorbed by immensity, 
of the giant silent timber. 
But the tree breaks, heavy  and falls,
life from its highest point
The bark coarse and rough and red
She shakes her head and runs
to her mother seated on the picnic table
asking where the cherries are
red and plentiful.

No comments: