Poem: Uncut Timber

Dripping in metaphor, but a pretty good poem.

Uncut Timber Gliding, setting cupped-wings to land Tilt, slide in, among thick branches Time for no time, direction undirected, offering shade, protected space A place to rest and ruffle feathers Preen a bit, resume the song that began elsewhere, notes sung from a life in other forests Restive, with an eye for predators Interrupted flight, to wing-in here, landing for a while, to contemplate options of an unending migration Perhaps to stay a while, more likely not Catching breath and stretching wings, testing seasons, judging angles of sun Lost in gentle foliage, then gone No place to build a nest, no reason to establish this far north Permanence needs warmer springs, further south than these roots grow Still, there’s something to be said for the maturity of uncut timber Years standing against storms, a history of drought and flood Spread branches that ask nothing No need to stay, no rush to go Shelter, from one season to the next A silhouette, on migratory routes

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection THE SMELL OF TWEED AND TOBACCO available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.