My thready Live Oaks still have leaves that hold.
The neighbors trees will soon fill in the gaps.
I pray that drought or flood won’t cause their loss.
Majestic guards, they welcome guests with shade
throughout each year, repelling frost and sun. To lose them now when they are needed most would change my home, and wound my caring self.
We age like that– a halting step, dark spots, a brush that fills with hair, split nails.
We want the sun but fear a fall, a chill.
Then Spring comes in on fragrant flowered breeze.
We braid fresh daisies in our hair and sing. And we arise to wave our arms and dance.
In rainbow shirts we prance among the trees.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 3.29.2014