Walking today, I sent metta to my constant friends, the neighborhood trees, and noted their winter endurance with respect. Below is my reflection. I have been holding onto this first line since earlier this winter, and was finally able to give it a home.
February Friends
Black lightning strikes skyward and freezes.
Veins of ink dry on a fine-toothed sheet of clouds.
A leaded window divides the sky.
When I blink, I see a photo negative
of your silhouettes.
If you must wait all winter
without your bright, many petaled lungs,
with your hands exposed,
bones feathering the air,
then I can make it, too.
