I thought a lot
about how the oak croaked
in the wind on my walk home
the other day. How it sounded like
the screen porch door of my childhood,
unhinged and indecisive.
I grew up thinking only one way.
It was not until I told a good
friend about the tree
that I understood what is meant by "precarious."
My mother would say, "life is so precious."
Could I ever argue with a frog in winter?
[image: andy goldsworthy]