deep spring
the elm chooses
the crow
pineshadow
over the chicory field
mackerel clouds
storm-broken hemlock
the lanternfly’s proboscis deeper
into the blood
spruce in cone
the lengthening blueness
of its shadow
white clover
expanding to the forest’s edge
crowcaw
maple leaves
skittering across asphalt
autumn’s voice
a yellow oak leaf
flittering into the cold
last monarch
quidnuncs
the starlings light
on a bare hickory
the mountain ends the forest ends winter rain
winter stream
a birch tree falls
into another self
ice-glazed pine
those years
I held myself in stasis
a single sycamore
in the center of the woods
first lightning
Joshua St. Claire
Saragun Springs 
Joshua
I am truly enjoying your mastery with brief phrases. Such fine descriptive powers, which underscores the old good things in small packages saying!
Leila
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Joshua
Every line and phrase of these pieces is alive literally like the branches and the buds of a tree. Without trees, no air to breathe, so there is nothing more important to celebrate and remind us of. Yes, there are many among us to whom a tree is nothing more than a dollar sign; but there are enough of us here who see more deeply than that so that we just might beat them in the end, at least enough. Great work!
Dale
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