Tonight,
the tips of the trees were on fire.
They burned with the setting sun.
Auburn red.
Flames engulfing the earth.
They burned as the day came to a close.
Standing straight
their branches envelope the earth.
They are stationed with good posture,
as if they went to Catholic school and were forced to stand up straight in line or else get rapped on the hand with a ruler.
They are like soldiers,
stationary. They cannot move but upwards,
towards the heavens.
Their golden bark glows in the light
as it dims. Their naked limbs are cold
with the coming darkness of night.
They beckon to me to join their party
in the mysterious forest beyond,
to dance underneath them and hear my
heavy feet crunch the dead leaves below them.
I look up and see the sun slipping from branch to branch,
all the way down to the mossy ground.
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A bit of poetry, rambles, thoughts and prayers to go along with your morning coffee.
Two cents
"The definition of success--To laugh much; to win respect of intelligent persons and the affections of children; to earn the approbation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to give one's self; to leave the world a little better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm, and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived--this is to have succeeded."
-Emerson
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