Poetry | Stories | Photography
The way the branches long for each other,
look at how the moon hangs in the middle.
Such a pretty night, or is it a Winter’s day?
The fog-blue sky of Winter Dreams is cold.
Disturbingly filled with love by the branches,
abandoning protocol to rub against the trees.
a sun melody
different leaf shades
moody trees
dancing leaves
different dying shades
winter kisses
a strong gust
reds, yellows, and Olivine
playful trees
a bird song
rubbish moving in the wind
winter hugs
I wish for nature to invade my brain
take me from the concrete and steel
show me the end and the beginning
tell me a story about the young sea
stay close to me and guide my heart
teach me about the ancient old ones
sing the language of the trees to me
I wish for nature to tell me her stories
The forest is full of the sounds of snow-covered trees, scurrying creatures, and the hoot of an owl.
By the lambent glow of the lamp, a witch walks along carrying a song to the trees, the snow, and the Earth.
As she walks, trees bow, creatures dance, and the owl nods.
To remember the trees;
green, tall kind ones.
A land of promise and beauty;
we lived in warmth & peace.
To remember the day
they called us heathens.
Our land, now flowing with blood,
as bodies suffocated the trees.
To remember the trees change;
dying as bodies putrefied, rotted.
Our land without living trees,
until the blossoming darkness.
They did not want us
to touch the trees and the leaves;
Forbidden feelings.
The old-growth forest
disappearing from this land
for reflex paper
trees embody time,
humans are time in motion,
time is within us
Contorting herself
A blithe disregard for trees
Samurai movements
The history books,
they tell of your infamy;
you destroyed the trees.
C & K 