Sometimes a past version of myself
Who is (always) a part of me
Laughs at the way I talk to trees
And writes poetry about everything
(Including the Winter):

A Winter Psalm

The trees have let go
of everything unnecessary
For Now
Look how honest they are.

No green
no flowers or flourishing
An opening for a different set of eyes
A different kind of seeing
only the long, dark lines of Being Here
the architecture of having lived,
Of living.

They stand
listening.
As if winter is a teacher who
Speaks slowly clearly
Eloquently in a different way
It asks for eyes to see it as it is
And I Do.
I Do.

I walk among the trees
with my collar turned up,
my breath deep and then
running ahead of me and vanishing.

The cold asks nothing fancy -
only that I notice
how much beauty IS IS IS
without adornment.
And I SEE!
What a simple miracle
What a wonder
I see now.

Relentlessly, the trees remain remain remain
rooted in faith faith faith
hands open to the sky,
empty and unashamed.

Creating s p a c e

For me to stay in winter
Or perhaps to fly towards the sun
It seems this season it's
Whatever I choose

These trees show me
What it means
to be stripped
and stay standing,
to trust the momemt
And to receive every ounce of medicine it offers me
Just by Being.

I place my palm
against the rough bark.
It is alive.
It has always been alive.
I'm alive

And in that quiet knowing,
winter softens -
not in external warmth
But the warmth of the truth
That only the solidness of the winter tree
Can speak to me

They say:
this is where the nourishment is now.
Here.
And there
Where you choose to see it
We point you towards your needs
amd leave s p a c e for your desires

I learn from their patience
Their vastness
Their ease with death and life
with the allness of it
How much more I can see
When I choose
To open my eyes
And listen
To the trees when they speak