Massive, mighty shimmering dark burgundy
canopy reaching high into the bright blue sky,
the great girth of the verdigris trunk hindered
easy climbing so, ignoring the big badly
banged in rusty nails, I leapt, grabbed and
shimmied up and along a low dangling limb,
the hard way, to the crotch of the old tree
where the spreading branches formed
a comforting musky pit.
There I sat, reclining on the warm wood
between the twitching burnished leaves,
nestling carefree on the mould dusted bark,
still, silently observing life below scurry by
listening to the quiet rhythmic rustling of foliage
in a soft wind and the sure beat of my own young heart
steady, secure, high above in the copper beech.
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