Ash trees have dappled dreams;
their fractured leaflets ruffle in opposition
to one another from sensitive stems,
fed on sap that climbs in pulses skyward.
If we lie beneath them each breath out
will become its own exhalation
of a past terror, at last, departing us.
Quivers of cool and warm
will stipple our faces and
these lessons might teach us that here,
shade falls only in the places
that sun and wind dictate.
These protean leaves of Ash trees
know the juxtaposition of wounds of scald
on one side and the tonic of cold
on the other, that light and dark are related,
brother to brother, and each of us must reconcile
to the tether of our own wavering shadows.
Image from pixabay of Ash tree leaves.
(Just FYI, it's pretty hard to say Ash Trees without it sounding like ash trays).