Elaine Bossard Tree Seasons

ELAINE BOSSARD

Tree Seasons

A canopy of branches up and out-- crissing, crossing, into a blanket of tightly woven green and brown threads. A lush sheet of cool refuge drives back brilliant rays.

Tiny heads poke from this cover, hidden away from cruel teeth. Any movements are chances,

unknowingly risked, beyond the fronds of protection, in search of a primal comfort.

At night the monarchs swarm, muted autumn hues mimicked on each branch. They move together as summer’s last breath, a southern-fleeing orange cloud by morning.

Brace against the bitter wind, a small twist, a sharp bend, shows proof of its valor. Standing tall to be cut down and fulfill cold desires.

A white diamond coat confines foliage in a death-grip. But peeking between the frosty fingers, a promise of renewal-- leaves, blooms, fruits.

Dried out cracks cover veins that spill when cut. Consumed by the gallon-- sweet sustenance on clear winter days. Spring forth to plant the seeds. Budding bounty of: apple, peach, plum, pear. Cleaning air, cleaning messes, clinging to the soil and never letting go. Allows another to root-- preserving past, present, and future.