Season’s great puzzle

The spirit of the ancient tree

pondered the great puzzle

A simple twist of fate

moves the bedrock

these tap roots grasp

These deep roots claw

when trunk sways instinct

Branches reach out

beyond their golden arm’s length

Wind whips wildly astir

in ether eddy’s high places

Grey clouds veil allusions

of misunderstood alchemy

Caught out in the rain

once again a lucid aberration 

The tree cannot become

igneous basaltic lava it clutches

Nor can it run from fire

for it fears not the flaming glow 
of the Autumn woods

The trunk rises above embedded roots

like metamorphic rock

Quietly cogitating release ,

its fickle lucent gypsy leaves

chasing the blustery wind ;

contemplating the great

puzzle unfolding before its being

Changing season’s shelter

prevailing wind undresses ,

naked to the world again

left as found 
yet another wooden ring ...

Did another unbroken circle mean anything ?

©  Harlon Rivers ...  October 10th , 2013

Authors notes:

We cannot run from who we are ...
All I was searching for was  me ...