It’s quite rare around here
     that the snow stays on the branches
            on the slopes of the sinuous trunks
     for days at a time
—could we ever count the time in weeks?—
because of the river valley and the ocean.

The trees are weighed down,
     especially the evergreens, because
            they never hardened up the same way
     and anyway bear the needles
—not that I wish the needles away—
but here comes a small breath of wind.

        It was just one gust;
        It might fill the whole earth,
        But it blows where it pleases.