Ancient massive trunks 
towering up to the sky
In your own dreamtime
of centuries passing
While temporal flashes 
of color and movement
from noisy two-leggeds 
and skittering chipmunks 
circulate around your roots
And ravens wing through the air overhead
I smell the subtle incense of your bark
as it glows reddish gold 
in the afternoon sunlight
And gaze up at all the unspoken mysteries
I will never know
May your roots be
ever wild and free, grandfathers,
as you reach for the stars of the cosmos…
–Marshal McKitrick
Image – Dena McKitrick