Old Oak

Old Oak

The old massive-branched oak
Stood like a staid sentinel
Above the shores of Lake Michigan.
Finally tall enough to reach
I pulled myself up into its arms.
Bumping my head
Straining my back
Climbing higher, unheeded
Until at last I could see
Over the swaying leafy canopy
The turquoise sparkling waves
Stretching to the peaceful horizon.
My haven.

Swinging my summer-brown legs
Dangling from that sturdy branch
Dreaming about that cute boy,
Then to stretch out gazing up
One leg crossed over the other
Arms folded behind my head
To ponder who I could be,
What I might become.
Whispering my wishes
With only the rustling oak
Listening to my secrets.
My haven.

Leafy confessions blown away
On the quickening inland zephyr.
Stirring, dancing, pitching
Until the afternoon sky darkens,
Threatening the old oak and me.
Shaken from my tossed dreams,
To hide nestled between
Sturdy knees, crouching,
Protected from the storm.
My haven.