I thought I heard some tough young redwoods
trying to get the ancients’ attention
but the elder trees are not interested in prattle,
the youngins play in the quick-step breeze
limbs raised cowboy-on-a-bronc style flexing
their boughs wildly, whipping in the wind.
Whipper snappers do not give up,
swinging their branches
conducting the rhythm of afternoon westerlies,
leading the young more delicate saplings
to be pushy, tickle the elders
with sprouts through every crack and crevice.
I halt standing on soft cushion
of their wooded home,
the Redwoods don’t bother with me
don’t care if I understand their symphony,
swaying though their green fingers,
in keys and timbre foreign to my ears,
They seem quite happy to not notice me at all.
Sharon Lopez Mooney, poet, retired Interfaith End of Life Chaplain, lives in Mexico. Mooney was given a CAC Grant for a rural poetry series; nominated for “Best of the Net”, chosen for “Editor’s Choice”; co-published an anthology; co-owned a pamphlet distribution service; poems are in many publications nationally and internationally.