Taking Flight from the Tree of Life

Into the heavens

At the golden hour, the birds gathered on the stark, and nearly bare, branches of the tree.

And they, too, became like leaves on this pillar of life.

Their silhouettes lingered, mingling with the gathering night and with the few remnants of once-green, then russet, now brown, skeletons dangling in the wind.

Behind them, the orange hills drip into a pool of fiery sunset.

The moon begins to glow, crawling her way up the ladder of the sky.

I step closer, and the birds begin to fly.

One by one, they lift into the night, like leaves blowing in the chilly wind.

They almost vanish into the hushed darkness.

Except that, unlike the leaves, now drifting, wordlessly, to the ground,

the birds have found their voices in the air.

Their cries reach down to my lone and listening ears.

Do they suffer?

Do they know that many of their kind have vanished into the long, dark shadows of time?

Or do they simply take delight in the joy of flight, when Mother Moon casts a sheen upon their wings, and, together, they can sing, on their journey into the heavens?

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

Thank you for reading this poem about a topic so dear and important to me. You might also enjoy:

Poem and photos ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.