In early April the trees
end their winter waiting
with a creep of green on branches.
In early October the trees
listen for a wind crying,
for leaves whirling.
The face of the river by night
holds a scatter of stars
and the silence of summer blossoms
falling to the moving water.
Come clean with a child heart.
Laugh as peaches in the summer wind.
Let rain on a house roof be a song.
Let the writing on your face
be a smell of apple orchards in late June.
—I appreciate this poem so much because I know the writer’s inspiration. I have been to his manse and walked a while in his shoes.