Trees in a glade. They surround me. Each one a lovely shade on a warm summer day. They shimmer in their magnificence. Tall and broad, strong and deep.

Trees in a glade. They dance with their leaves and sing in the winds. A song of loss so profound. A song of love that dumbfounds.

Trees in a glade. With yellow wilted leaves and barks that has been cleaved. By axes of exes and claws of flaws.

Trees in a glade. They sway as they pray. A bittersweet dance that caresses my eyes and make love to my ears. There's a story behind their masks of green, fading yellows and torn reds. There's a feeling behind the sturdy blacks of their roots and bright flush of their shoots.

Trees in a glade. They beckon me into their void. They draw my smiles and I haven't a need for my wiles. They offer a shade to rest, a space to test my weak stretched wings. I jump and its never high. I fall but yet I fly. I laugh and it's a song, for the leaves, for the grasses, the sands and trees.

Trees in a glade. The sun as their frames. Whilst the water runs invisible and turn their seeds to diamonds.

Trees in a glade. Beautiful and scarred. Lonely behind barks. Sad in the dark. Yet, they shine in their innocence. Their very essence not lost in the world's presence. Their loneliness not a definition of their outwardness. Their sadness a mere reflection of past madness. A madness spurned from love. A madness from the withdrawal of a touch; a gentle father's hand, a lover's sweet caress, a mentor's firm pat. It's a madness not known for its rules and runs on fumes of fleeting rage, limited hate and self inflicted decay.

Trees in a glade. A harmless blade that saws me open and let the light into my dark. Trees in a glade. Never fading, ever-changing.
Despite their wholesome halves, and flawed carves. Despite some withering flowers and burnt out fruits.
They remain simply, unequivocally, permanently EVERGREEN.


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