Mighty Oak

Her majesty

is ancient

but so alive;

her breath is the haaashhh and shiiiishhh

of moving grace.

She gives up a rusty brown-paper piece of herself—

letting it float and swirl to the ground

a caress from above,

humus for the soil

and blanket for her feet.

Wind urges her to let more go;

one by one she loosens them

from the anchor of the known.

They join their sisters, the acorns,

untethered in September.

Her leaves are neither brightest

nor most resplendent

but that doesn’t stop her from fulfilling her destiny

and it doesn’t stop me from noticing

with respect and awe.