Sprigs of hemlock hang low with frost. The blue-green spruce stands in contrast to the seas of fog covering the valley.
Heart shaped leaves of cottonwood hang stiff and sing autumns choral defiance.
It’s the first frost and today,
It is your birthday.
Today is the First Day. It’s like this. And it isn’t.
You stretch like the cedar, and fall like the pine.
Your history, your every lived moment, and those of your ancestors, ones you’ve known -and those you never knew- stretch back and reach forward in this now.
You are the rising sun hidden behind evergreen mountains and cottontail fog.
You are the memory of every spoken verse. The cascading waves of light, dancing in the permafrost glow.
You are the seasons change. And I may never know your name, but this is how I know you.