Sandy Carlson
Childhood chores required me to go outdoors
And wonder about tree universes:
The music of leaves in life, dying, death.
The canopy that drank up summer sun
Made music with the drying movement of air–
Made music under the slightest footfall,
Giving even me a place in the score
Of time swirling and turning through seasons.
I would kneel to pull leaves from around stones,
Discovering soft moss and soil’s rich scents,
A soft world of quiet beneath the trees–
Evergreens, secret and sure beside oaks.
Then, I had a place in the movement of things,
A child’s reverence for the love our Earth sings.
Comments