Jagged rounds, twig on twig, way up high
Against airy canvas of cerulean sky
Atop trunk’s widespread span, within limb’s reach
Over weather-curled birch covering, wet with bleach
Color gone by sun’s beatings, still leaving its mark
Next to other trees, shredded and peeling bark
Falling to ground on fulvous debris’ bed
A flattened mélange of sharp points and textures dead
And there, shadowed, nearly hidden, a sprout, neon green
Seemingly announcing the beginnings of spring’s scene
A change welcomed, as is sun, filtering in this way
Putting an end to the sameness of winter’s display.
Photos and poem by cindy Prochnow
Lake Superior April 17, 2011


Salon.com
Comments
rated
Thanks
R
lovely, lovely, just lovely
birches beckon,
"Return, come back!"
what did I miss?
your core complete
my meaning missing?
birches beckon,
"Return, come back!"
what did I miss?
your tapestry of blue
Pull the cerulean
down
over
me