This Tree

This tree,

My companion

In the front yard.

You are the filter

Through which I watch

The winter sky.

Sunrises, stars,

The sliver of a moon

In the pre-dawn light.

Some may call you bare.

I see the beauty of

Your shape,

Your branches, strong,

The witness that winter

Is not dead.

It brings a time of reflection,

Of seeing through other filters.

And now, with Spring,

You sprout new life.

You tell an Easter story,

That death has no power.

Resurrection changes all.