One winter in January, 2023, I went for a walk near my home. I didn’t notice what was around me. My mind was worried about all the things I hadn’t done yet. Then I looked up at the trees with no leaves and I wrote this poem when I got home.

The bare trees of winter appear dead

They have withdrawn within awhile 

To restore and renew their strength

But no one criticizes trees

For not producing leaves

In the cold of winter 

Oh, that we could be so kind to ourselves

For we are not machines

We are human trees

With cycles and seasons 

Just the same 

As trees.