winter

i've started this habit of leaving my blinds open at night so i can stare into the night as i fall asleep. this is one result of that.

the somber tone of years past

gentle blowing of the wind

blowing years of memories

your rings tell of age, of wisdom, of life

sagging branches from decay

but what does the oak tell us of today?

while it's on it's way to the ground

let it tell us of the olden days, rewound.

"so many things i have seen under my leaves.

things of joy, of laughter, and pleasantries.

but also of anguish, of pain and misery."

how can this be

under this tree

the world of both extremes?