the birch: an attempt after long months of silence

[violetfox]

the birch is not dying
just her leaves
as gold pushes the green to the edges

i met her green in april
after a winter of white bark
i forgot the smokey black and white
at her core

she'll lose her gold like she lost her green
reinvent herself in elegant white
months of vulnerability
with no hiding places for life

who is she, really?

is she gold or green or lost
a widow, a saint or a warrior

or is she a victim of seasons?

i choose to believe
she is all of them
kept with in her changing secrets

a spring of freshness
a summer of glory
a winter of nakedness
against the blast of blue sky.