The Sycamore Tree

Red light upon a white tree,
Where the road runs down to the creek;
Roots where evening shadows fall,
And only your head flung up to the sunset.

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This brief poem describes a fleeting moment from this afternoon.

There is a tall sycamore tree that stands near the road, just down from our house. Its white bark is striking at any time, but it particularly catches the eye when the sunset light falls on it, where it rises against a west-facing hillside.

It is bare of leaves now, and evening falls early, tracing its upper branches in the cold red light of a winter sunset. This transient beauty lasted for just a few minutes and then was gone.