Friday, March 10, 2017

the aspens


standing in the glacial till
where the river rocks drift
along the slow seasons
consecrated of root and thorn
illuminated by leaf and berry
practicing mindfulness again


after hard years of becoming
there’s a sad feeling of being
simply awkward and old


but the communion with silence
evokes the quietest of sounds
touchingly and achingly clear


the linen white boles of aspens
the spring green leaves
trembling

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