pine wind

power and responsibility. what do I have? can I change someone's life just by being? can I change someone's lie? I wonder, sometimes. when the lifehinge comes, will you know it? will I know it? there are more than one. maybe three rights will make a square. three lefts make a square, a wrong, a right in their own right.

la flama niposa, la ombra dispare, la noce immortale, la voce murmure.

trees outside my windows.
at home, it's a beast of a cottonwood. spring-summer's best for that boy, when it's in full leaf and it sounds like a river rainstorm with every breeze. it's green, too, the real green that's sunlight through twenty feet of leaves. for some reason, for as long as I can remember, a horseshoe's hung on the lowest branch. it's rusty, brown-copper-redgold.
in flag, it's a pine. I suppose it's the "pine view" the complex is named for: if there wasn't one there already, by golly, then they'd make one. I seem to have many memories of its snow-coveredness. it's green, too, but sunlight goes right through needles. it's the green of darkness, the cottonwood at night, or in a real storm.
they're both nice, I guess, both trees. dichotomies at their most elementary (school), deciduous and coniferous. the cottonwood's budding again, and the pine's lost its snow. we'll be going into green comparison season soon.
...but if it comes to which I'd rather listen to, I choose the cottonwood. wind in a pine feels lonely.