The Matriarch

 

Swaying gently in the breeze,
I am one of the tall pine trees.
Needles fall like rain,
upon the forest's counterpane.

 

Cones like hailstones to the ground.
The forest animals alert to every sound.
Stirrings from the forest floor, 
I wait to oversee proceedings,
a performance which I am leading.

 

You dare to sit on my branches birds.
I shake you off, you flock,
as if you dare to mock.

 

The shadow which I cast afar,
reaching upwards to the stars.

 

I am the overseer,
the matriarch.
The immense tower of bark.

 

My roots an anchor from the wind,
my branches home to those with wings.

 

I have stood for decades here,
the forest over which I preside,
the creatures who use my trees to hide.

 

This forest of pine..dozey but never completely asleep.
Throughout the seasons we can see,
the comings and goings amongst the trees.

 

Stand I will for decades more,
until finally my time will come.
When I will hear the deafening roar,
and the machine will arrive with its mighty saw.

 

 

© 2018 Taylor Crowshaw

An excerpt from The Tracings of my Shadow