you whittle at my skin, chisel to grain.   veneer falls away, a jacket to which it’s akin. through pockets of bark are rays that shimmer in vain. against time, they can’t...

A bolt of lightning strikes through the night; the mice are awoken, the bats take flight. For miles and miles they hear its scream, but no one mourns for the tree.   The leaves are...

Are you a real Christmas tree person or an artificial tree person? Most people have a definite opinion on this subject, and it usually stems from what kind of tree their families have. There are many thoughts...