This Winter Wood

C.Parant, Appetite for Photos Used with Permission

This tree was young once long ago…

smooth of bark and lithe of limb;

but trunk has broadened over time,

and outer skin’s defined by lines

that countless seasons have bestowed.

                  I wonder then, upon what whim

                  would someone choose to seek its form;

                  no longer green—youth’s bloom dispersed—

                  what would prompt to steal a glimpse

                  of thing so weathered and well worn?

Perchance the seeker’s misinformed:

 for often tree is just a tree.

As summer into autumn flows

the heavy frost belies the snow

and time moves on without reprieve.

                  Perhaps you’re searching for the source…

                  the roots from where the words are formed.

                  Like sap in spring, sometimes they flow;

                  more often though, the drip is slow

                  till bucket fills and poem is born.

You’ve asked to meet on middle ground,

this fledgling friendship to endorse

our known conceptions reinforce…

Yet there are others more profound

than aged timber unrenowned.

                  So I have left this bid ignored—

                  floating stagnant days on weeks…

                  and ever further from its youth

                  the timber shies, afraid in truth

                  that it is not this tree you seek.

Shall we let meeting run its course

and through rapport some kinship form?

  There’s no reward for those who stall…

Like wilted leaves on damp gray morn,

we bend toward light to be transformed.

           

© Ginny Brannan 2015