Avenue of the Giants, 2016

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The silence of centuries
settles in amid these giant redwoods.

Nothing to say to us,
their limbs whisper high overhead.

And, later, when we yell
a friend’s name who has wandered,

our voices feel choked off
by these solitary sentinels of the earth.

Why should they speak to us?
Such weak creatures without roots.

Weekly photo challenge: It’s not this time of year without …

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… that late afternoon light glowing through the last leaves still hanging.

Most trees have lost all their leaves, so those that still cling to the branches seem the most jubilant — the ones that won’t give up.

Finding this bridge of leaves over a street in Calistoga, California, was a special treat!

Sunflower Field

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Every summer when I visit Marcus,

the last thing I do is walk in the field of sunflowers

south of town.

It reminds me of my comings and goings

and how life goes on.

The grasshoppers will be jumping,

and the dew will drench my sneakers.

I’ll track mud back to the rented car,

and that little bit of Iowa

will travel across the country

with me.

 

 

 

“Is this heaven? No, it’s Iowa”

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I used to dream a lot of flying.

Not flying, really.

Soaring. Lifting right off the ground.

I could do it whenever I wanted.

Just slip free of the earth

and look down from on high.

Maybe it’s because I grew up here,

where the sky is wide

and there’s a lot of room to soar.

Or maybe it’s because

I never really felt

rooted

anywhere.

The wind was always

going somewhere.

Urging me

to come along.