Balsamic moon.  Angel clouds dancing down from pink to purple.  I found a tree that saves a seat for me, with slabs of old concrete tilted in the water over the lake below.  A fruit tree now bare bones with winter.

The flock of geese honk above making a wake that heralds the dawn.  I chat with these trees who stand as the shore and see the plank of hewn wood high in a crook of her branches.  A perch to watch the sunrise or ducks.  The chickadee says ducks.  She holds a seat for me whether I choose to climb up or not.  Oh that I could spend my last moments in such a tower in her waving branches and safe arms.

When I spill tears missing my oldest walking four-legged friend, she listens and a heart rock smiles.  Clouds and mountain play hide and seek.  Woodpecker furiously drums machine gun rattles pounding on wood.

Tiny point limbs of would considering the season to unravel.  To leave a season behind.

I cherish that seat saved for me above the water to watch the ducks dipping in the dawn.