Tapping
- Linda Sattler
- Apr 7
- 1 min read
Our maple tree stands in the middle of our yard
Bent with the weight of its branches outstretched
Naked in the grey landscape
I pierce its side and it bleeds
Drops of clear liquid – almost tasteless
Spill forth into a vessel
Waiting for a transformation
From one life to the next
Days later, the sap is boiled down
To a rich amber sweetness
It is shared among a multitude at Sunday breakfast
Filling our hearts with the warm winds of promise
I gaze out the sun-filled window
A tree, once seemingly dead, rises into a new life
With a shower of soft green
It’s arms outstretched towards me
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