weathered

it is that time again
when the trees grow fickle;
tired of cradling their offspring
preferring to release them
and spend the winter frigid
and alone

I try to understand their viewpoint
perhaps they feel overwhelmed
growing tired of the attention
they gather in the season
weary of being only admired
for their exterior

and maybe they strip themselves
of the vanity of their beauty
forcing others and themselves
to see them naked; bare and revealing
their inner beauty for a change
as a testament of strength

I have always been fascinated
by the stately lonliness
of a baren winter tree
and how it seems to reach out
in desparation with all its empty arms
for that which it regrets having let go