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A Tree

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The tree stands alone,
stark against a cloudless sky.
The sun imbues its leaves with bright
gold light, and the yellow
leaves tremble like thousands
of gold coins in the wind.
Its great body casts shadow
on the weathered stones below.
The ridged bark hides
a system of patterns,
of sap sluicing through
its veins like blood,
of water flowing upwards,
defying gravity, of the light
and dark that make up every living thing.
Some of the roots twist downwards,
into rich soil, drinking water like
the parched ground of a desert.
Other roots creep across
cold stone
and try to find a place to live
and to grow.
Isn't it interesting,
how the leaves scrape the shell of the sky,
while the roots grow
in the opposite direction, winding
their way to the center
of the earth?





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