Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

the perfect tree
sits on a flat boulder -
roots clawing rock;
stunted and deformed,
but very much alive

the foothills seen
through flame-colored leaves
look painted

rushing waters
empty into a basin
and are still

trees are bare,
and the grass is brown -
graveyard winter

through the tree gap
cold mountains glow warm
in the setting sun

green to burnt orange,
one tree holds the range of hues -
sometimes in one leaf

leaves swirl & tumble 
through the cemetery-
danced to life

in dry autumn air
seed pods split wide,
awaiting a breeze

half a tree
holds its leaves firmly 
the other stands nude

yellow petals
warm those who walk
the scrublands