Yesterday was Samhain, or Halloween. It was a beautiful, if somewhat cold day and the moon was shining brightly. During the night a storm came. This morning, when I woke, I discovered a fallen tree in my garden – a victim of the Samhain storm. It inspired me to white this poem:

A tree in my garden uprooted 
by a storm overnight one Samhain. 
It’s majestic beauty’s not broken;
the lichen and moss still remain. 

The branches still sway
to and fro in the breeze.
The birds sing and play
as they please.
The sun shines upon
it’s artistic new form;
a sculpture, 
at peace on my lawn.

Bathed in the pink light
of dusk, it’s warm glow
like a fire
is a comfort to see.
And when night time descends
and the stars above twinkle,
the spiders and bugs on it play!

When I walk round my garden
and I look at my tree
gnarled and wrinkled 
lying down, on its side,
I see an old lady
asleep on the ground
still majestic and teeming with life.

My beautiful tree was 
blown down in her prime,
but lives on
in the place where she fell.
By day, her beauty shines brightly.
In the magic of the moonlight,
she sparkles.