I study structure

all winter

The Bradford pear

tall, thin, almost perfect symmetry except

one branch bent forever downward out of pattern from

astounding snow that Halloween

The scarlet maple once spreading in a glorious globe

marred by limbs broken by that same startling storm

The cherry’s thickened trunk, short stature,

leaning full eastward, sparser to the west

The high aspirations of the sycamore

stretching in almost tortured

elegance to the sky

The oaks, stolid, no nonsense and no frills,

extending limbs and filling space

dependable, not predictable

The tulip poplars, dwarfing all the others,

arms angling upward, drooping downward,

stately

until the next break

In spring

buds and then

those pale green flitting gauzy curtains

giving way to lush, flowing drapery

hiding 

all the secrets of my trees.