Near dusk—at top center, a half slice moon spills out to the gentle blue sky.
Birds tweet. I crane my head to look up as if I'm upside down; I stay that way taking in
the Tree—branches above me splay outward—strong motherly arms revealing leaves
brittle with winter that appear as white lace and dried feathers silhouetted against the
mauve and silver blue sky at the horizon. As I bring my head back up, I see the other
trees—tall bamboo, oaks, pines, and juniper shrubs—I don’t want to leave. I’ve
ceased walking. But I must continue. All is still this Sunday, drenched in the light of the
moon and blue sky.