Poem: Frosted Trees

Today, the frost on the boards
of the deck glows like silver stars.
The sky is pale denim,
the moon a fading crescent,
the sunlight casting
long thin shadows
as it creeps above the cedars.
The trees whisper together
like they remember something I’ve forgotten.
I am thinking
about how necessary
it is to listen to ourselves,
to trust ourselves
to know what we need.
We may resist our own knowing,
suppress our own trust,
but when we drop back
into center,
when we come back home
to ourselves
and listen,
it is there.
The trees are quiet now.
The choice is yours,
they know.
Believe it.

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