an ancient beech on the bank of an ancient creek
every winter the same routine, every spring as well
over time a home for moss – how many hundreds
of squirrels have been fed – or thousands, even
and how many descendants have sprouted
forgotten by those self same squirrels…
roots that hold the soil fast each time
the water rises and the creek floods
a canopy of leaves each summer
shading the soil and cooling the air
thriving all the while and supporting
so many others – never earning a living
rather, belonging, and always giving gifts