After rain has come and gone
I sit a while beneath the tree,
the one my Father sat upon
Where once he may have thought of me.
Slowly, Sunbeams dry the bark
She weeps her raindrops, free to fall.
I stay there sometimes when its dark
To listen to wild natures call.
But always when I rise to go
once all the reminiscing’s done,
I’m clearer in the things I know
Of what is past and what may come.
Though under Skies as grey as Slate
dull days may shade my memory,
No darkened cloud could span so great
To dim my eyes of that one tree.
Notes from life 
They say you shouldn’t delve too deeply into what you write seeking hidden meaning. I find that unusual as I do a great deal of thinking before I commit to text. I understand though that upon reading what is written it is possible for things to be revealed to an author they may not have been aware of. I wrote this purely about a tiny window of contemplation beneath a tree. Reviewing it now in the context of my Fathers dementia I see many other things. I regard trees as sacred living entities, viewing them as symbols of stoicism and fortitude. I see forests as symbols of rejuvination and replenishment. It’s refreshing to walk into something you think you knew to then find something new.
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yūgen–it really is quite a special word
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