She disappeared out of the
diamond winter sunlight
into the shadow world,
where a tree stood shivering
at its edge

She wanted to calm the tree,
but it only cast its book of words
down on the pages of snow at her feet
for her to read

A language written in a code of shadows
like the crosshatchings from a quill pen,
dipped in the branches' dark red ink

The story told the life of the tree in its chapters,
weaving through the wind like the concertos
of Vivaldi's Four Seasons-
winter, summer, fall and spring...

A history stretching out in all directions-
up the jagged mountainsides and down
the slopes to hidden streams...
while the black crow
shakes the boughs of the tree
with his shadowy inky scratchings...
connecting the dots
in his dark dreams...



carol