The wide boughs were a
salve for the ground, a healing
after a full day of sun.
A shield of bark brandished
its protective sword, restraining
storms while shielding against time.
Winds push daylight to the horizon.
Night clams the forest. Flowers
close. Sonorous breezes lower to
a soft breath. The aroma within
the air marks a season of change.
Clouds appear stronger. Rains are
cold. Voices are few.
Roger Singer 