I feel my spirits rising,
As the breeze blows through my hair.
And the dew of early morning,
Adds a sweetness to the air.
The leaves of last fall linger,
Amid the sprouts of green.
My delight meets expectation,
When these hints of spring are seen.
This little spruce tree has taken root right next to a tall, old tree. I couldn’t help thinking how it looked like a big brother protecting its little brother from branch breaking wind and pelting rain. A silly thought, but I liked it just the same.
While riding home after a visit with our daughter last August, I was moved by the sights we passed on the highway, and was inspired to write a little poem.
The asphalt ribbon lies ahead,
Mile upon country mile.
Field and sky melt together,
On the distant prairie horizon.
Pumpjacks bow toward the earth,
Urging the ground to surrender its treasure.
Crops of canola, sunflowers, and grain,
Lift their golden heads toward the sun.
Rail cars await the prairie bounty,
To share with neighbours far and wide.
Weathered barns sag, abandoned,
Left to rot in the sun, wind, and rain.
We pass these familiar scenes,
As we make our way home.
Our prairie home.
Trees are often shaped by the wind and weather. Some of the resulting forms range from soft curves to gnarly tangles, but are always interesting to observe.