The Hemlocks

I wait all day

to see the magic

of early evening light

stream through the forest

gather on hemlock needles

in small, radiant pearls.

 

So different from the day’s vast, high sun

that dons no particular character—

different, too, from maple, oak

birch and pine that flatten

the descending beams

merely brighten the leafy green.

 

Yes, it’s the hemlocks that take me

as I watch the glittering delicacy

wonder just how my arboreal elders

some centuries old

pool rays into tiny, shining spheres

that bring such joy

and tears.

 

-Roxanne E. Bogart

 

Roxanne E. Bogart is a wildlife biologist and writer, whose poems have appeared in The Burlington Poetry Journal, Poetry Quarterly, and Naturewriting.com. She spends her personal time hiking in the woods and meadows of Western Massachusetts, where she gathers inspiration for her writing. Visit roxannebogart.com.