At the foot of the screaming tree...

At the foot of the screaming tree

I listen to the winds howl in harmony

an angry litany

of questions piling endlessly

like confused leaves, warm on the forest floor,

on a summery autumn day

Glowing in the Dying Sunlight

There were phantom birds

haunting the dark forest last night

very nearly there

just at the edge of my vision 

but then not

I could hear them rustle

in the shaded leaves

and catch glimpses of 

rusted iron feathers but then 

they were gone

Meanwhile 

just above my head 

glowing in the dying sunlight

a web was being woven

by a spectral spider

The woods were alive with ghosts

Watchful

What the sycamore saw
she wouldn't say but
she left signs all along the forest floor

And seeing the corner of a
stained glass leaf
and recognizing that these 

1,000 panels 

are just one small part of one small leaf
in a woods with a million leaves
leaves me breathless
with the math of it all

Cool Comfort

A song was sung

that called the moon into the sky

The moon, in turn,
called the players into the forest

The forest, for her part,
welcomed them all within her shade

where they played in cool comfort