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.