28: Trees and their ways.

I wrote this back in 2011 while watching the wind knock the bare branches of a tree together. I thought it was worth sharing.

--------------------------

I am a November Tree.

Barren and bleak I stand on the hill above the brittle grey grass

And the ravens perch on my limbs.

I am not a June Tree, whom children might find sport in climbing.

And my leaves are not green, nor make the sound of running water

Which young lovers often times listen to while sprawling by my roots.

I am not the August Tree, who gives fruits to the passerby

And then explodes in a magnificent display of orange and yellow.

I am none of these; my day yields no visitors.

Children are frightened by the shadow cast by my branches

Onto their wall when the moon shines through their window.

But do not misunderstand me. I am not dead.

The day will come when drops of green will form on my fresh boughs.

I am a November Tree.

And my life is far from fruitless.