i watched the wooded world grow white.
trees stands in opposition
of everything we’ve made.
my wrinkled life felt
frivolous in the shadow
of their steadfastness.
wind went through their open hands.
but they stood where they were.
maybe a nod of recognition
at the growing elements
but willful they remained.
snow finds open arms to feel safe in.
arms the chickadee, finch,
and squirrel know well.
i’d like to climb up
and make my home
in their gentle and lasting grasp.
flurries fall quicker than a blink.
sometimes i feel more like them.
the flickers of flakes,
who ride the emotional winds,
being only where coerced.
staying no where long enough
to be known or to know.
i’d rather bend towards the sun
and be home among the dirt
than freely dance a fickle reel,
riding the whims of rootlessness.
let me live slow, love long,
and stand fast.
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