Branches In The Sun Poem by Fred Odom

I sit on my garden glider
On the north end of my yard
Under an open lattice roof overhead
On a small meditation deck
Built between two palms
Facing the southern sky.
The sun-filled morning warms me as I
Await the arrival of hummingbirds
That have taken up residence
In the branches high above
In a neighboring yard's tree
Often coming to bathe in my birdbath
And misting sprinkler. But today,
It is the shape of wintered,
Barren branches of my peach tree
That like an aged field worker is
Bent over, but proud of its spindly branches
That just a few months ago,
Filled the yard with
Fragrance of ripened fruit
That I smell as though they were still present
That brings me.

The sun and accompanying offshore breeze
Create shadowed designs of my tree
That change the landscape's canvas with
Its gentle wind dance
Cast on the sepia ground below, absent
Its lush, verdant colors of Spring and Summer.

And likewise,
Because of my winters
I better feel
Than in past seasons

The shadowed designs of my own
Cast across my years
When I lived only for Spring and Summer's
Warmth and promise of abundance
And focus on the glistening leaves
And the fruit heavy with juice and sweet pulp that
Drew down the branches from their weight.

Now too, I better see the dancing branches
Of my tree
Are the bones in my life.
They reveal my structure and its
Sunlit shadowed path of life moving
Across my earth
That brought abundance
And at times, dormancy
And pruning to strengthen Spring's growth.
But also in time an awakening and appreciation
Of the company of nature in new branches,
A safe place for nesting, and ultimately
A jumping off point to new life
In the world.

My trunk and limbs have prospered
By its roots deep into the earth
And replenishing water and sustenance
Provided in love by those around me.
In turn,
My sheltering leaves,
The fruits of my limbs,
Even the pruned bundled branches for warming fires
Were given freely in love that
I hope have sustained and assisted
Those in need of shade,
Those who were hungry or cold,
Or who may only have come
To see the patterns of my branches
In the sun-warmed clear blue sky
And on the earth at their feet,
As they may sit on my garden glider
And reflect on the world around them
And within.