The circle of German pine trees

My grandfather planted

Was surprisingly easy to find.

They tower, swaying so mightily

In the winter wind

That they creak

Rubbing against each other.

I lay down on the snowy ground

To gaze up at them

And at the opaque white sky behind them,

And am afraid they might come crashing down

Their needled branches thrashing together

Their trunks flexible—

Bounding and recoiling.

 

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