Snow falls quietly
from grey skies,

reshaping black
leafless branches

of a tree that
has not yet confused

its age with
its strength.

Tree conspires
with sun and moon,


the shadows cast
upon the worn

cement squares
we pace on.

Weather be damned,
this tree shall

cast its shadow

of season
or year

until some
fickle human

decides to
remove it,

all proof

that anything old
ever existed.


Janet Cormier is a painter, writes prose and poetry, and performs comedy. Janet prefers different and original over pretty. She loves collecting stuff, but cleaning not so much. Janet also talks to strangers. A lot. Her column appears weekly on Oddball Magazine.