Were wakeful trees watching me silently,
When soft, snow-laden, slowly I stepped past?
As I trudged by, it rare occurred to me,
They'd see my plodding passages as fast.
I'd oft admired their strong and stately stance;
Their quality of arboreal grace.
That even when the Fall gales make them dance,
Perforce they bend, yet stay rooted in place.
To them, I must seem near ephemeral:
A spirit candle flickering with light;
A passing daytime shadow quick and small,
Or just a thing that goes "bump" in the night.
I wondered, would they take note -- notice me,
If slowly I should stop and hug a tree?
When I walk in the woods, it nearly always feels like the trees are watching. Still I have to wonder what they "see."