The spruce trees tower in the sky.
They were no higher than me
when I put them in.
A barrier to pavement,
the parking of cars,
the noise of a cheerful school.
They were meant to be a barrier,
to bring quiet to the garden,
to shelter the birdbath,
the coming and going of rabbits
and chipmunks.
In winter the snow gathers
on their greenness
and I feel no older than a child.
Each year I watch their decoration,
they pull me into their beauty.
A haven and a release
to the openness of things.
A fence not meant to be a fence,
but a shore,
where I see the light
enter at dusk,
the moon travel through their branches,
the wind become soft with their swaying.
And like a chapel
where hush is a sound,
prayer a language of the heart,
they give me so much for being there.
Denied a forest
for a small lot in a dense city,
I thank them,
one living thing to another.