Watching the wind blow through the trees.
Kicking up the dust and
watching it cross and cover the path made
on that bright, crisp morning –
Early enough that the dew was still sipped
by the wild flowers following her
road to nowhere.
As the sun begins to beat down on her face, the dew has now dried and
the leaves are curled to protect the
moisture they’d gathered.
Reaching out to the tree branches
covered in moss and web, she
There is an ephemeral beauty in what
is taken from and what is lost in this place.
Though its sounds are of such
much like the last song
of a dying bird…
There is a decrepit Redwood that, though
still holds her secrets.
She imagines that perhaps her struggles could
be buried there, and
that the lone song of her dying dream might be
buried there as well…
deep within its roots.
Deep within its safe place –
where life still exists.
In the spring
seedlings may shoot
from this dirty place, and
a new chance at life could begin, if
only the sunlight could get in.