“Trees are the earth’s endless effort
        to speak to the listening heaven.” ~Rabindranath Tagore
In the short confluence of time-
Heaven kissing earth.
They leave discarded vestiges
of themselves.
Progenitors of a past-
rooted firmly in soil
rich with their flesh and bones.

We stand erect-
Bearers of the gift
under shards of light.
Vermillion, apricot skies.
Pennywort, California poppies,
Succulents and wildflowers scent
the velvet night air-
of surf and salt.

Our branches extend
as we pirouette into
a kindred dance of syntax-
cleverly crafted words.

Each session, we walk the pathway
of the Pink Palace- 
Diane’s San Francisco
writing retreat.