Avenue

Was it sun in the pine trees,
or cypress branches feathered
under snow? or, in the frost,
hemlock needles remembering
lemon-scented spring-time?

A straight road, an avenue
of as-straight trunks, flake-white
from the last falls of winter,
people in insignificant colour
where perspectives intersect,
where distance no longer matters
and the farthest hills hold the eye.

Shadows cast, grey to blue,
on the scoured road to infinity,
tree-shapes smudging ruts
that go unbending to nothing;
only sunlight and sky remain
as light suggested by branches:
far away reminders of heaven.

© BH, 2020

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A quick response to a Facebook post by artist, Holly Friesen, mainly this photo taken at Domaine Saint-Bernard, near Mont Tremblant in Quebec. I liked the light. Holly liked the poem. Good!