On the downslope of
summer, weathered oaks wading
through yellow light

 

Chip Ross Park, Oregon

 

 

From a higher world
Bright eyes in soft old limbs
Watching over me

 

 

 

Restless and ready
For their first spring blossom, but
The moon slips away

 

Their crowns converging

Forest of differences

Finding common ground

Syllables of light
lining bare limbs, floating
on winter’s surface

Shore Acres State Park, Oregon

 

 

Breathing 
With and for us
Our steady elders

Raising their trunks, a toast to the centuries
Flowing photons, rounds of rain, mist, warblers and chattering chickarees
Raspy-skinned with hearts of enormity
They raise their trunks
Toasting the centuries