The world comes to the tree. Stars, birds, breeze — none can resist. We cross oceans and continents to see the sequoia, the cedar, the bristlecone, just to be in their presence. And some of us are like trees. Some of us understand that the universe is contained in a raindrop. Some of us are in tune with that memory and revelation. Some of us stand in the yard. Some of us shade the walk. Some of us take our place alone on the hillside.
December 11, 2020
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Diaries, Journals, Memory, Revelation, Trees
William Michaelian 