January 12, 2018 by phicks2012
I was looking out of a window the other day at the trees surrounding The Castle. There are a lot of them, but in the winter we can actually see the highway through the woods, and passing cars can sort of see us too — if they’re looking. That’s because, while we do have pines and cedars, the trees are mostly bare in the winter, allowing light and cold winds to pass through.
In any case, I felt inspired to jot down a few lines, and will be publishing the resulting verse in our monthly SCA newsletter, The Equinox. The results are below. Enjoy if you will.
Their arms are bare; their fingers touch the sky;
Though ragged sleeves, soft, rippling yet cling.
Like russet tatters, swept where chill winds sigh,
To flutter like pale sparrows on the wing.
The trees, great naked giants top the hills,
And cluster in the hollows, arm in arm,
To form entwined arcades where rivers spill,
Or huddle close like kinsmen, to stay warm.
But winter’s fist, that shakes the branches bare,
Cannot for long its frigid grasp maintain,
And, towering, the giants for spring prepare,
In cloaks of green to clothe themselves again.
[05 January A.S. LII, 2018]