old growth

January 17, 2014

1969

I have work to do this morning

but I keep running into poems

that give me pause and pull

my gaze out my second-story

window to the dance of

sunshine and shadows on

the fence line, the blanket

of dead leaves turning to soil

and the trees, their bare branches

reaching or — perhaps — offering

their despair and determination

without a leaf to show for it.

My heart knows the same song

the trees are singing in their

slumber — they are not skeletons;

dead and dormant are not the same.

It’s what you said as we walked

yesterday in the fading light:

“The trees never quit growing.”

I want to say the same of me.

Peace,

Milton

Leah January 17, 2014 At 9:54 am

Having just turned 74 years of age, I want to say the same. Thanks, Milton.

- miltybc January 20, 2014 At 10:27 pm
  
  You’re welcome, Leah.
  
  Peace
  Milton
  
ragancourtney January 17, 2014 At 11:47 am

Milton,
I, too, experience insights and epiphanies while looking out of my office window. I want you to know that you are a profound inspiration to me, and I love reading your poems.

- miltybc January 20, 2014 At 10:27 pm
  
  Thanks, Ragan.
  
  Peace
  Milton
  
Terry Allebaugh January 17, 2014 At 6:49 pm

I love this imagery. I am completely entranced by bare tree limbs in winter’s night or limited light. It has become my soul image and your words add to its dimension.

- miltybc January 20, 2014 At 10:28 pm
  
  Thanks, Terry.
  
  Peace
  Milton
  
Suzanne Cate January 20, 2014 At 5:48 pm

How I resonate with your poem as I sit here looking out at the bare pecan orchard (and at email and facebook!) while upstairs sit many boxes awaiting attention! I don’t feel so alone anymore! 🙂

- miltybc January 20, 2014 At 10:26 pm
  
  Thanks, Suzanne.
  
  Peace
  Milton
  
Marilyn Tanner February 19, 2014 At 8:24 pm

Your poem paints a nice mental image. What a gift it is to keep growing.