Me and the Trees

it is dusk.
the trees in the orchard look anxious
waiting for something that may or may not come.
the branches bow up and down in the cool breeze
the breeze that will bring change

the dim sun stretches its arms out, brushing over
all it can reach, all it can see
leaving streaks of gold
and burnt orange where it spread its
fiery fingertips.

i can't help but sense a feeling
of foreboding
perhaps nature itself knows more than i
about what is to come.
my chest yearns
pulling at my heart like tiny threads
plucking at me, wanting more than i already have.
why can i not be like the sun
that takes what it can
when it wants
and gathers it up in its glowing possession.

why not i?
why must i lie waiting
much like the dead trees in the orchard
for a little light
for a little touch from the world -
an allowance to go on.

what if the world simply passes me by
forgets about me
and nods off into sleep
leaving me to find my way in the dark
groping for that hand to scoop me up
and warm me.

all questions unanswered and nothing laid to rest
i wonder how those trees feel
patient
quiet
i guess they do know more than me
they're not asking any questions.

the hand skips over
the dim sun sets
the orange turns to purple and blue
and everything becomes quieter still
except for me
and my loud thoughts
my obnoxious questions
that always go unanswered.