The Cypress trees stand huddled on the hill,

all warped and windswept, withered by their trials,

they shift their weight with elegance and skill,

contorting into wild off-kilter styles.


It’s not the shape they dreamt that they might be,

but theirs is not to choose their time or place,

exposed to blows unfitting for a tree,

they change their stance with unbegrudging grace.


With crooked spines and aspects worn askew,

it’s hard to make their species out at all,

but don’t they make a captivating view,

such lithe exquisite dancers in the squall.


Wind swept cyress trees, Cuperessacae, on the Northern California coast.





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