The congregation of snow-covered trees,
like pious men in their prayer shawls,
chant Amen in their open air sanctuary.
They stand leaning and swaying,
forced into choreographed movements
while being rooting to one spot,
not daring to skip out on prayers.
I do not join them
but am with them in spirit.
They stand in gratitude,
acknowledging their bond
with the earth and whisper
in its language in the breeze
that rustles the leaves,
brings down kindness,
generosity as shade is offered,
fruit is borne, and rest is received.
Rootless no longer,
the trees and elders
know it’s time
to sit out the dance this year.