The color will hang on a few more days
before wind and rain will strip the leaves,
and the trees will turn grey for the winter,
skeletons, their arms reaching like bones
to the sky, praying corpses
standing in a cold sun.
It is easy to imagine them dead,
for dead they seem, stripped
of color for the coldest of seasons,
dead things that aren’t, not really.
Somewhere the sap lies, lifegiving,
frozen, in wait.
And you? You too are in wait,
standing under the trees,
your hand on the rough bark,
feeling for a heartbeat,
evidence of resurrection that beats in unison
with your own.
About this poem
Psalm 104:16 was part of my devotions this morning. It reads: “The trees of the Lord are full of sap.”
Not full of sap in summer, or spring, but all year. Sometimes it flows. Sometimes it is stilled. But it is always there. As is our creativity, or faith, or love or….. It is always there, waiting for the change in season.
The picture was taken from the quarry across from my house in West Pawlet, VT.