Under thin gray clouds diverging down,
galloped colorful horse manes.
Honeycombed,
compacted ravine gravels.
Overnight pelted and rain-washed.
Standing distant on drying Quercus soils,
over sun-comforted knoll.
Grandmother oaks’ home, and you;
Young russet oak. Your noisy leaves,
scarlet dressed like your slim cousin;
your burred uncle bearing the hawk’s nest.
Southwinds blow,
beginning a fallen acorn’s legacy.
palmer haynes
december, 2003
