I am an old oak
branches hanging low
darkened by the storm
Rain collects inside:
a calm black pool of sorrow.
Something beautiful is growing here.
An older song, a newer bag of acorns.
"Do you want to collect acorns or watch a movie?"
We want to make cookies, my niece and I. I've never done it before, and neither has she. Acorns hold all kinds of possibilities.