by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I’ve come again
to watch your woods,
snow up to my thighs,
winds flying
across the tops of trees—
like when I was little.

On windy days
I would run
into the woods
and listen to the wind
roaring across the tops
of trees,

but stillness would
be beneath.

I think of trees
as family,
those that are
always there,
steel cores,
that guard us
from all the clamor
at the top,

the quiet and stillness

close family.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

6 responses to “Kinship

  1. Another fine piece that suspends the moment in a breathless stillness where the reader may savour its truth and atmosphere.

  2. Beautiful Ethel; I have found myself writing about tress over the past months; they are indeed family. X

  3. Just need to echo what Ben Naga has posted. Love trees and this piece reminds me of why, with reasons and words I had never thought about.

  4. Oh, I love this.

    Nothing bad can ever result from shaking hands with trees methinks


  5. Ethel, I love this very much – just beautiful!

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