
the rain tree sprawl endomes the whole street. folks miss the light show and its leafy glory, while enjoying coolness.
the rain tree sprawl endomes the whole street. folks miss the light show and its leafy glory, while enjoying coolness.
My walk is in the early hours, in dawn's buttery light. There's a gold glint to all that's pale, whether a wall of white or waters of a placid lake or eucalyptus trunks or on the waving Pampas grass or on the robes of monks. And by the time I've lost that light, the walking hour is done. And I'll be looking forward to when next the day is dun.
long autumn shadows stretch across the pavement and it might just be that everything has stretched out time and thought and hope and love and life and mystique all smeared across the day like shadows smear across the ground it's a slowing of the mundane as the mood grows sadder winter's melancholy is moving on the wing
i see a leaf amid leaves
the tree is covered in creepers
these leaves churn out power
— silently —
each leaf making miniscule food,
but there are so many —
and so many hours of daylight,
and they take no breaks
they sit in tight clusters
waving in wind
still in stillness
— but ceaselessly working —
until the day is done
&
darkness descends
and i can’t help but wonder whether they have leafy dreams, and — if so — what a tree’s dreams feel like?