There is a tree on my street,
a sentinel standing ready
to warn the twirls of a twister,
first to shed its’ winter greys
for verdant foliage.
This morning I rose
early coffee in hand
a quiet August vaca day
watching the day begin
through the curl of Dr. Phil.
I saw my tree standing
with one small patch of red
reminding me school, work
and the descent to black and white
has begun.
ml’24