In the canopy, the city disappears
beneath the trees.
The low hum of the cars on the highway
can be heard through the rustle of the leaves.
Thankfully, facing south,
they are not seen from the canopy.
The wind is persistent
in it's general flux in direction.
Swinging this way and that,
the tree branches move;
the inconsistent, but gentle lull
of your mother's arms.
It is lovely in the canopy.
I don't think I could have picked a better home;
fourth branch up, here in the canopy.
It is so much higher up
than anyone's home I know around here.
It is all branches and trees,
pastel flowers and leaves,
with a nice view of the river.
At night, I watch the stars burst
in the midnight sky,
you were here with me.
Be well and know I am happy here
as I hope you are there.
Aaron C. Molden