I’d like to spend a week under

my favorite tree with a book

of poetry and a a sketchpad —

I’d begin with the leaves,

use my pencil to mimic veins

that run the length of the spine

stretching to the outlines

from the stem to tip,

shade one side in contrast

to the edge that seeks the sun,

then hold a fallen leaf next

to my lesser-than attempt

and marvel at how much

detail I missed; next, I’d 

write a poem explaining 

the beauty of my failure, 

open my little book of verse,

place my ditty next to a Kilmer

or Frost and wonder

at what has already been 

written before the week 

I spent, a good week, under

my favorite tree, a lesser 

poet humbled thy those who 

came before her, also lesser poets,

creatives awed by the flawless art

of our Creator.

—C.L. Fisher, January 2021

Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.

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