Among the trees
the sun close above,
I sit. The trees
whisper their reasons
to me in the breeze.

Jays, blue like the sky,
peck ripe nuts from
the pinon trees.
The tree’s job, done.

Lady junipers,
branches covered
in blue-grey berries —
poignant in smell
stringent on the tongue,
utters to me,
“Beauty isn’t
what you might think.”

Aspens, their leaves
graceful in the wind,
flitter about
reasons to smile,
reasons to dance,
reasons to make each
moment matter.

The sweet cypress,
the tall cedar,
the orange-berried ash,
a mulberry, and
the purple leafed ones,
their roots entangled
with each other,
join in a chorus,
of ancient secret
songs of the earth
unheard by folks
deafened by greed,
but heard by those
who listen with heart
and let the music
sooth, heal weakness
into strength to wear.

“Come rest against my
crusty trunk, let
my piney sap
kiss your flesh.”

“Come pick my berries
let them flavor
your food. May new
beauty be yours.”

“Come sit beneath
my dancing leaves
for shade and grace.”

“Come watch the entwined
harmony of our
multicolors and
entangled roots.
Delight your senses.”

Such is the moment
as I sit among
the trees and listen.
Simply listen.

—Charmaine Coimbra