I don’t know much about gods,
but I think the oak tree on our hill

might be one. It’s stood for years
with outstretched arms, sheltering birds,

scattering nuts to those in need,
and offering shade from the sun to everyone.

For longer than we’ve been alive, this tree
has been wrestling life from earth and stone,

losing limbs to winds, adjusting
without complaint in order to survive.

This tree doesn’t need to say a word
to be a mentor. On this cold November day,

having dropped its robe of leaves, it stands
up to the sky, a naked Zeus or Thor,

its bare arms raised, welcoming
whatever winter might bring.

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[Please let me know what you think – tscrider@gmail.com]