Duration (Possession in Great Measure)
From the gate to the city, the aspen on the mountainside flash green, silver, and undulate toward the clearing. When the dark season starts, they switch to yellow, then brown, then stand and hold their places. They bend without breaking under heavy snow and ice. I, too, struggle in my place to do my work until this becomes the reason for my being. I tell myself I don’t need recognition. I’m only one of many, and not the best at what I do, but at least I’m persistent and I don’t complain. To people passing by in a hurry, if they notice at all, the aspen seem to be nothing special, just trees. If order endures in this part of the world, they will seem the same centuries later. Now they are quaking under a golden light.