There is something to be said
about a solitary Sycamore, standing
unencumbered by fence or flower bed,
reaching her branches out and upward
as joyous in the loss of leaves
as a dancer frozen in a pose
at the end of an interlude
before the curtain closes
before the applause begins.
One more season of giving
a spectacular performance, only
the Sycamore remains firmly rooted
at the crossroads, naked and brave,
a glorious reminder that changes
can be simple and stark, yet
full of beauty unbound by time,
undaunted by almost gaudy golds and reds.
link to lyrics from The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel