And I instinctively hunch,
Bracing for the shiver.
I stay like this, even after the wind has passed;
Guessing that it will come again.
I look at the barren trees
Stripped of their glory, waiting.
Their branches will be broken,
Their bark stripped by deer,
But they remain.
Are the trees diminished by this barren time?
Am I crippled by the hunching of my back?
The answer lies in the stillness,
In which we both stand.
Amanda Crossley 2010