When The Winding Winds Chill Them

November 9, 2009
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September and October.
Trees pour Autumn
from their branches, knots, limbs, leaves.
When the winding winds chill them
all living things freeze, stop, rest, wait.
Kneel before frozen springs.
Tithe each day
for their dismal counterparts.
Tawny and crimson at the bottom.
bark found dry, cold, fissured, dark.
Among things desolate,
one remains bold.
Wooden and laden
with things old, ancient, taciturn, aged.
Trees reach for each other;
for something in return.
perhaps a leaf, twig shrub, nut.
Together shedding tears;
biotic, crisp, brown.
Resenting the years.
Blown by winds
and feathered things.
Bearing ripe fruit, nuts, blooms, homes.
for lives beneath
that freeze, stop, rest, wait
in woeful awe of bound thaw.
Nothing presented in return
as trees wither, gasp, fall, break
in a subliminal pandemonium.
As they freeze
When the winding winds chill them.

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