Dance of the Pines

 
The sun is painting a collage
of dappled light upon the sand
as it peeks through the branches
of pines that sway above my head.
It takes a long, and ambled gaze
up rough-barked, branchless trunks
for eyes to reach the rugged tufts
of growth perched at the top.

But it is worth the trip,
for watching them wave aimlessly
at a soft blue sky
and seeing wisps of white wave back
in the same unhurried fashion
gives an other-worldly feeling
of floating somewhere, weightlessly,
far from any earthly ties.

It's impossible to imagine 
how high those tree trunks reach.
Distance becomes 
not only imperceivable 
but also unimportant 
and the troubles of the world
are left behind
as I lay gazing upwards.

I imagine the swaying treetops
engaging in some old-world dance
set to the music of the wind
as it rustles through distant branches.
It's almost a jolt to return
from this place, high above the earth,
and realize my feet are, after all,
still planted firmly on the ground.


july 2004
ŠJanet Reid