By Rebecca Epp
Sitting by my dear old friend;
Her feet planted firm, toes reaching out
For water, burying themselves in the
Creekbed slate, crumbling beneath
Her gentle weight. She’s so strong
My friend, strong and still;
An ancient relic upon the hill.
Surrounded by others who look
At her with curious eyes; their heads
Tilted with the wind as if saying
How long has she been here?
So long she’s become one with the
Earth, one with the sky, one with
Me. Lucky I am to sit in the shade
Of her attentive gaze; like a shepherdess
Lovingly watching her sheep graze.
A rod in hand and a clear eye;
She walks with grace and purpose
In the low sunlight. Always rooted
In the same spot on the hill, yet
Travelling where her heart would will
Her to go; roaming free among
The mossy puddles, all that remain
Of the flood. I nestle into her bark
So soft and wait for her to speak
Her wisdom. But, she only sits
Basking in the sun, soaking up the
Last of the heat waves; for the frost
Will soon be on its way home.