Dark green conifers
Gray talus across the mountain slope
A splash of blazing yellow autumn aspen
Softly rustling,
With a gust of wind
The cottonwood leaves almost crackle
The white pine stands
Tall and brave
Why does it look so lonesome?
In the winter woods
Brown dead leaves always
Stay on the gray beech
The tiny maple my son plants
Is mowed down,
Not by me
Before the
Emerald ash borer arrives
Its trees are already dying
The tree house rests
Within three tall cherries
In a sea of green leaves to the sky
They wanted to cut down the
Blossoms leaves branches and trunks of Redbud Woods
They did
Massive ponderosa rounds are burned for warmth
Two stay in the truck for weight on
Snowy roads
Sun glinting
through tall ponderosa onto the
Soft forest floor of grass
It is a poem itself
Single maple
In the meadow
The great Dutch elm called Zeus
Master of the yard
From its branches, Cayuga Lake lies flat and blue
The old oak tree now grows close to the house
So many caterpillars crawl on
The trunk
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Inspired by the paintings in Leanne Shapton’s The Native Trees of Canada (Drawn & Quarterly, 2010)
