Living the Tree-House-Person Test

I draw pictures of trees
on sheets of paper

place my hands on the trunk
of Maple, ask it to let me
ride out this storm

string a hammock between
two branches of Oak
with no awning to stop a sunshower.

Eighteen feet off the ground
I play my harp on the deck
of a Pasadena Willow.

In my Franciscan retreat
I sleep in a Douglas Fir
with french doors open to the sky.

I draw trees that won't come
crashing down on me,

forgiving trees.