mother oak
she stands, deeply rooted
amidst a grove of shallow-footed
firs, bursting with fruit; her evergreen
friends taunting her as she blushes
red, surrendering her modesty
to the cool winds of autumn
what dreams she’ll dream when
winter comes, memories wakened
in the deep, dark loam, buried there
where only her roots can taste them,
memories of seasons past, of
seed-burst longing to breach the
grave, to life, to feel the sun upon
her face and the sweet seductive
breeze, the thrill of greening
she stands, deeply rooted
amidst a grove of shallow-footed
firs, some felled by tempests, or the ax
destined to waste away to dust covered
in gaudy baubles and tinsel, their
ever-greenness an illusion laid
bare at the altar of lost souls, and
rendered to ash at vanity’s bonfire
yes, she stands, deeply rooted
in the bosom of she who keeps
this blue orb spinning, sailing
through a sea of sweet milk just
far enough from the sun not
to be consumed and close enough
to the moon to see her reflection,
light and shadow colliding, in
ecstasy, heart and soul all-knowing
~kat
-Inspired by a new book I’m reading… “Seeds From the Wild Verge” by Brendan Ellis Williams
