Ode to the Great Oak

To the tops of the great southern oaks

Is where I wander in days where the weight of life and its complexity

bear down so profoundly on my back that I am left immobile save the desire of my

Eyes to glimpse something miraculous to re-calibrate my disenchantment. 

I look upon a sketch of creation, simultaneously arrested and stimulated by the serene wild of it all. 

To Nature I am ever-enslaved, captivated by her transcendence, 

Ageless yet antiquated, stubborn in her refusal to give way to man's will to subdue her.

I dissolve into the long necks of those oaks, bending rhythmically to their Maker, 

Brandishing, innocent to the delight which they incite in those who raise their crowns heavenward.

If I could but yield in her way with such lithe abandon

I might provoke a fraction of her allure. 

But this is a fleeting reverie,

Atonement is all I find in these transitory seconds 

A memento of the triviality of me

And the sublimity of Him.