Tag: trees

wildness is a necessity

when, as now, the city leans too close - all cloying constructs, relentless cement send to me a comfort of simple pine, send to me an endurance of wind-bent cedar, give to me the remoteness of ridgelines and a full solace of placid tarns what … Continue reading wildness is a necessity


last night, the trees

last night, the trees stood up and proclaimed their poetry to one another something in the twilight inspired them, though not everyone paused to hear it but I and the day's last robin halted our respective routines to acknowledge what was clearly extraordinary © Sarah … Continue reading last night, the trees

April windstorm

the winds that rushed in yesterday to strip branches of their blooms flipped trash can lids, sent them spinning down the street, cast crows into chaotic aeronautics and sent all songbirds deep into their shrubbed shelters but today, they come out singing blithely tumbling between … Continue reading April windstorm


craving stars, I crept down the crouching hallway, disturbing only moths seeking their own small allowance of light trees sleep, lowering their limbs by fractions as the day subsides, leaving only the incremental gestures of slumber I have had to explain often the peculiar edicts … Continue reading insomnia


August again, and the jays are leaving feathered remembrances in ones and threes on the sidewalks beneath the trees – showing sweet-shadowed maples the best places for leaves to lay come October © Sarah Whiteley Back with a new look! The idea is to begin … Continue reading feathers

autumn’s end

the bees have succumbed to drowsiness and the honeysuckle's dropped, replaced by the final asters bowing low in blue reverence of sky the river birches arch their yellow-graced necks over the pond where drifts of silver fish begin their quiet descent to barely being maples … Continue reading autumn’s end