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Sunday dawns
bright on autumn aspens.
Tender early light
quickens clarity.
Computer hum confines,
cozy walls close in.
Pull on jeans and boots,
escape to solitude
retreat to canyons
where bracing breezes
stir crisp October grass.
Cross and re-cross
dry Four-mile Creek.
Hop on river rocks
like the wary puma
hidden above.
Listen to silence
steep in sunshine--
alone but not lonely.
Down in the draw
a solitary pinion
kneels to the earth
in pose of devotion.
Needle-fingertips
reach for the far bank.
Bitter winter snows
nearly broke its back,
but not quite.
The miracle is
the tree didn’t die.
Bent double,
scarred in submission,
its roots survived.
On the sun side, new limbs,
green arms stretched up
reaching for light.
A leader branch emerged fresh
re-birthed from roots of the old.
Surprised by joy
Alone, not lonely
Bent, not broken
Reborn
Ever green.
First published in Glimpses: A Memoir in Poetry, Outskirts Press 2012, permission from the writer was given to be re-published.