Trees by Betsy Martin

a pithy fall day the hill stippled withpeach, rose, yellowa friend and I stride over it among other walkers, maples oaks, ripple of leaves with breeze brisk on our cheeks we talkabout youth, the old streetsfamilies, secrets, seedswhisked by decades of winds and about necks how to wind a scarfto hide the furrowswe talk about beeches with gray bark-fleshstill bearing initials and heartscarved into themwhen they were young __________________________________________________________________Betsy Martin … Continue reading Trees by Betsy Martin