aspen, Aspen Colonies, Aspen Trees, Forgiveness, Horses, Love, Love Poems, Poem, Poems, Poetry
The sweeping of our horses’ manes
Showed us the wind, and which way it blew,
But it was the aspens that gave it voice.
Like erratic wings of butterflies,
Shimmered, shook, slapped,
Simultaneously clapping as we passed.
Grace in the grove, the ticking,
whispering clatter of the breeze,
Passing, back and forth, between worlds.