I have been living and loving my life the last year and have not written, it seems, in exactly one year, and the theme seems to be too freakily similar even for me!  Guess I don’t change much 🙂  I’ve always been of the opinion that poetry, in one of its purposes, is to paint pictures of life.  The perspective simply changes.  I did not do this poem as a partner to the one I wrote on August 29, 2018, but the similarities are, as I said, freaky!

It rode the August wind


above the treeline

into the snowbank


that slowly melted its way over

granite and sandstone

into the small cracks and crevices.


Seeds are small and


in small places

until they grow


with sun and rain or snowmelt,

the least bit of dust,

to send the slightest tendril out.


Season follows season,


just a little larger,

pressing against rock


with undeniable insistence,

sending roots ever down,

and then at last


Daniel J. Cox


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