on trees

passing through

the seasons of time

where we

rise to fall

waving hello and



I’ve been away…

I’ve been away

but not really…

Like the sound of

a guitar years after

it’s been played,

embedded in the

grains of it’s body.

Maybe like the house

that is never a home,

a garden that is

never planted,

But yet here we are

in the midst of spring again…

growing from the death

of winter…

I’ve been away

but not really