High, sprawling, and audacious in the sun,
older than the country it stands in,
bare boned against the November cold
wind whipped, stripped
of its summer clothes,
the tree reaches the attention
of every eye that passes,
commands respect by way of fact
that it still stands,
resolute as a statue,
welcoming the open sky,
the rain, the snow, the wind
for yet another try
at tearing its broad grip
from the hardening earth
branch by brittle branch,
root by sinuous root.
It seems to be saying,
come now, take your best shot,
I’m still here where the others are not.
Haunted Avenues 