I climb to another branchin this Sequoia giantmany times older than me.It has stood through day and night,through rain and wind and lightning,yet stands alone strong and tall.

I see a view so stunningfrom my high perch way up here,the valley and the mountains,with mist pouring over the ridgesshining silver with sunlightin the early morning sky.

My family owns a tree farmand this tree is one of ours.We may fell many othersand send them to the mill,but we’ll never cut this treefor it’s ancient and special.

I watch an osprey soaringover our emerald forest,over a shaded streamletand then, catching a thermal,the big osprey drifts awayleaving me just a feather.

I catch the feather floatingand set it in my hair.I smile and write some morein my book of poetrythat I keep here in this treeto hold magical moments.