Of course this is no surprise because inside this fragile human skin, there is a redwood with bones grown from the detritis of the past, blood pumping in crystalline shades of amber sap. The trees woke me this morning, singing the song of November, a swinging tune to the bright snap of the wind. The maple and I hum to the cherry blossom trees, lulling them to sleep with promises of a winter gifts and a brilliant spring to come. They stretch and grunt in the breeze, snuggling into autumn, bedding down before the snow falls.
We will all sleep well under this warm blanket.