Solace

My window opens out into the trees And in that small space Of branches and of sky I see the seasons pass Behold the tender green Give way to darker heavier leaves. The glory of the autumn comes When steeped in mellow sunlight The fragile, golden leaves Against a clear blue sky Linger in the magic of the afternoon And then reluctantly break off And filter down to pave A street with gold. Then bare, gray branches Lift themselves against the Cold December sky Sometimes weaving a web Across the rose and dusk of late sunset Sometimes against a frail new moon And one bright star riding A sky of that dark, living blue Which comes before the heaviness Of night descends, or the stars Have powdered the heavens. Winds beat against these trees; The cold, but gentle rain of spring Touches them lightly The summer torrents strive To lash them into a fury And seek to break them— But they stand. My life is fevered And a restlessness at times An agony—again a vague And baffling discontent Possesses me. I am thankful for my bit of sky And trees, and for the shifting Pageant of the seasons. Such beauty lays upon the heart A quiet. Such eternal change and permanence Take meaning from all turmoil And leave serenity Which knows no pain.