Summer Shapes th Scenery

Wordless, I stand at the lips of the lake alone with my life. Birds descend. The seasons sing in my leafless limbs.... Knotted and old in this late land, I wonder as herons nest in my branches. I wonder as young beaks reach for the sun and summer redeems the ancient cold. The heart of the heron is silent, kind, though song is a stranger to her throat. But I am a lyre in the hands of the wind: Now through me sounds love's ageless note. The seasons sing in my leafless limbs....