Seasons

Stoically still. It towers.
The wind silently whips through its limbs
causing a sunset of colors to cascade down.
There is no rustling of leaves.
The ancient giant has been stripped
of its glorious display.

Shivering in the moonlight. It stands.
the way it has for generation after generation.
Naked and exposed for all the world to see.
Waiting for that first ray of light, that first beam
of hope to radiate from above.

Expectantly confident. It sways.
The warmth slowly returns to the earth.
The barren limbs sprout a myriad of green life.
The leaves rustle as spring clothes the beautiful
creation with splendor. Rejuvenated.
Revived. It lives.

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