Posts Tagged maple

Seeing long and short.

I told the pretty little hornbeam, forty years ago,
that little maple sapling will not bother you,
I’ll keep it lifted and away.
There’s room for both, I said.


The spruce looming at the bottom of the orchard was a seedling then,
its siblings all harvested for Christmas trees,
except one pine also grown too big for Christmas.
They’ve grown up entwined a quarter century since.


Good year for cones on the high branches.

The trees are transparent now
to the sky and the ridge across the valley
for half the year a solid mass of green.


See through down to the branch.


See right through the unending woods, almost.

In every quarter see the horizon of ridgetop and sky.


The leaves will be beautiful when they return.
But we’ll miss the long view through the silver trunks
just as much as we miss their dense green cloak.

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Knocking at the door.

      As a rule, you get only what you go after. But sometimes visitors come to you, uninvited, but not unwelcome.

One of a pair.


      Some visitors are anticipated, but land early.

Fallen but unforgettable

Maple rag.

       And there are visits, not uncommon, but remarkable in the details. 

Eastern garter snake.

Stored sunshine.

       Paradise with mildew and stinging insects, is paradise, all the same. Which you can prove simply by seeing who comes along to share it with you.

      The final edit of a novel is a long long slog, if only because final never ends. You cannot enter a paragraph without making a change, for the better, you hope, or fixing an error. The tenth pass is the charm. Ghost Walk will be published in the next few weeks. Until then, I welcome visitors who are beautiful and silent and arrive when my eyes are screen sore.


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