At Play

I unearthed, a few days ago, a poem I wrote October 4, 1994. It is  a rough draft I never went back to to reshape. But the imagery - is lovely. I remember the day I wrote this; I was sitting in my living room looking out the window onto a beautiful stormy day.

            Light peaks through 
                        Dark
                               Thick
                                       Clouds.
                                And the wind moves
                                      Through the skirts of the spruce
                                                Making them dance
                                                                        As the birch
                                                                                 Clap their hands
                                                                                           To their rhythm.