Pine Tree

My retreat

Low whistle and rush of wind through

thick furry branches,

Your bed of tawny needles litter the ground below.

The coolness of your ancient trunk

against my sweaty skin;

I climb higher and higher-

Your long, rough limbs

scratch and rub

My skinny, awkward limbs,

You are my peace in chaos.

You rock me slowly

Back and forth, a soothing

contrast to the

Shouts, shrieks, and laughter that bubble up from

Below you, around you-

But we are oblivious;

Hidden

From all who pass by,

My peace in chaos.

Scorching July sun bakes the dirt field

Beyond our reach,

My oasis,

You gently rub the paint from the timbers of

the cabin behind us,

Swish, swish: swish, swish-

grey weathered wood exposed beneath barn red paint.

Shingles glisten in the brightness-

Hot, blinding, baking sun- out there

But not in here

My peace in chaos.