Year Round Beauty

In the winter,
The base is covered in a white blanket.
Every inch, covered in snow.
Its cold hardness,
Its solid trunk.
The branches reach away,
Each twig bearing the weight of fluff.
Its roots stretch miles under and around.
Warm and buried.

In the spring,
The rain pours down.
The leaves,
Green and full of nutrients,
Echo the colour from underneath.
The old trunk,
Strong and fresh.
Each drop bounces off of the branches,
And plummets back to the earth.
Everything grows greener,
As the rain continues to fall.

In the summer,
The brownness begins to fade,
For the roots are thirsty.
The heat,
Beating down on every inch.
The leaves remain green,
And the base,
A light brown.
But there’s a suffering on the inside,
Making a desperate call for rain.

In the fall,
A spectrum of colours is forming on the leaves.
Once the leaves grow old,
They tumble toward the earth in exhaustion.
The base is dressed in it’s own leaves,
And the branches naked.

That tree holds beauty year round,
And that tree holds a lifetime of memories.
That tree,
Will always be my favorite place to be.