their branches stripped of every distraction,
every bit of green,
every flower,
every leaf that softened their shape.
Nothing left to impress. Winter has taken all that was decorative.
But they do not apologize
they lift their limbs into the cold sky,
exposed,
unhidden,
showing every scar,
every twist
every place where storms have changed their growth.
And perhaps a person is something like this.
not the foliage of achievements,
not the beatury,
not the titles,
not the carefully chosen words.
but the simple framework beneath.
Raw as winter branches
Open as a winter sky
Enough just as they are.
Pink Farm Chick 