Change

For many years I have admired the silver nakedness
of a branch stretched out from its mother tree...
near the water's surface.
The branch has suffered
from the rising salt waters of seasonal storms,
but the intricate patterns of old growth
are still very beautiful.

Each spring the higher branches of the mother tree
put out fresh leaves,
and the branch - seeing green - remembers past reflections.
Remembers the shaking of her fresh new leaves
in response to the wind.
Remembers the sharp little feet of a young green heron,
and the glint of light on minnows passing.

Now the branch peers into the mirrored depths to see
that pieces of once luxuriant growth have broken away,
and between the fragile curves of her remains
new growth springs forth.