stripped, naked, cold.
Most despise you.
"What good is a bare tree?"
Not knowing that you hear them.
You lift your sturdy arms in despair.
"Clothe me!" You cry.
The dark, winter sky stretches out around you
Like a blanket, cold and brooding.
Unlike the evergreens,
Who hold their secrets behind their sharp, green needles,
You are transparent and vulnerable.
You have none.
Your bark is bare for all to see.
Your cry is heard.
Slowly, softly, snow begins to fall
And clothes you in its sparkling presence.
You take comfort in its cold cover,
So you lift your branches with joy.
-December 16, 2010
There isn't much better than a solitary walk through the woods, camera in hand.