The very large tree that looks almost bare is a red oak.
Many years ago I read all of Jon Hassler's novels. In one there was a character who wrote poetry. Red Oaks was one of them. Wise. I have put it on this blog before.
Among the four seasons' perpetual jokes
Is the winter appearance of overdressed oaks.
Refusing to fall with the sleet and snow
Oak leaves cling, lifelike, through fifty-below
Until they are nudged by the force of the sap
Rising to fashion the oak a spring wrap.
I hope when it's autumn and winter for me
I can look as alive as the overdressed tree
And during the lengthening nights I can cling
To my wits and my heart--the tokens of spring--
Only releasing them into the sod
The moment I'm dressed in the glory of God.
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