A poem from 13 years ago

 

       Giving with the Wind

 

Standing on the deck of my good friend’s house,

loaned for the week, I watch the tall, tall trees

give with the wind.

                              Tall, tall--a hundred feet

or more, sparsely branched, swaying to and fro.

 

It is Vermont in May. Today it snowed.

The wind swept up the mountain from below

and those ancient pines, moving several feet,

gave with the wind.

                               I smoke and drink white wine,

Watching them bend and bow and almost dance.

 

Ageless wisdom, planted in dark soil:

“Resist not. Cling not. Do not rigid be.”

 

Give with the wind. Sway deeply. Bend and dance.

The storms of life, blow as they might, pass on.

 

jgb

5/9/10