Beech Trees Dancing in Winter

Fifty-two days of grey skies
and not even a bath in my
“nature light” can strip the
dark film from my skin.

So I begin walking through air so
thick its frozen scent has fallen
onto the oak leafed soil, and
end up at the local woods.

Here the copper beeches dance, arms
branched and strong enough to hold
their latte-colored leaves through
the muscular angst of February.

They are ballerinas with
silver tights and ginger hair,
subjects for Degas had he
walked these Southern woods.

I can’t help but smile.

Gary D. Grossman

Your Daily Poem 15 February, 2023