To the oaks, the seasons are the breathing
of the earth, exhaling her life-giving sustenence,
then drawing in the radiance of the sky.
To them, it’s all a grand ballet—
the upward rush of sap,
the emergence of leaves,
the arrival of the singing birds,
the flowering and fullness of it all,
then the inward flow, the returning to the source
with gifts of flaming crimson and gold.
And between the going out and coming in
the deeply balanced pause,
allowing summer to ascend to its heights,
winter to reach the fullness of rest.
The oaks surrender to it all, caught
in the beauty, joyous in the rhythm,
glad for their part in the dance.