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

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