Morning Poem

The accent of rain on naked trees
crescendos like the applause of a million
hands clapping in gratitude: a delicate
ocean of sound in this winter forest.
I stand dressed for sleep amidst the elm and oak,
still while they sway and dance in the rain bath.

The brilliant green of the pine
pops and points, "Look at me!"
on this otherwise dreary morning.
All the pines in fact...
their seasonal chorus.
Their time of year to celebrate
another truth of winter: life does not stop.
Life beats, booms, and thrives
when the chill blanket of winter lays itself down.
While some slow, slump and pause,
and others die, there are those
that rise up singing every singular day.

The pines, for instance.

I should stand so grand as a pine: soft
and regal in their pine needle coat,
ready for winter, and loving it.