I’m sitting in the backyard staring at that pine

Its branches and bristles look a lot like mine

I wonder – does it mind – the racoons who make their home there

Or the squirrels who squabble on its branches high in the air

They can probably see the whole neighborhood from that tree

How long it’s been there, how it feels, is a bit of a mystery

But its pine needles are green and its pine cones quintessential

Someone planted a seed long ago and look at what happened to the potential

The trunk can’t extricate itself from the branches

Or the needles in the wind doing their dances

Or the gnarly vines climbing up its sides

It’s where the raccoon abides

And a woman gazes

The mighty pine in my backyard amazes

It’s a mirror of my insides

Of the pleasant dilemmas and characters in my mind

I don’t have an arborist’s credentials

But nonetheless some kind of potential

As I’m inspired by the pine

And the blue sky behind it

I’m reminded of the value of sweet time

And of the promise that something good comes after everything dyin’