Ojo Caliente ~ New Mexico ~ by Sharmagne Leland-St. John
by Maralee Gerke
On the hill behind the house
a copse of trees stands
in lingering puddles of the first snow.
Stark unmoving sentinels
with twisted limbs,
they hold silence like a gift.
These ghost trees cling
to the saturated soil
holding their sacred knowledge.
But if we listen, the ringing
sounds of their ghostly solitude
fill our too-human ears
with the promise of winter's peace.