The Resilience of Trees

We coat ourselves in wools and downs–
thin barricades against creeping cold that seeps
through cracks in walls, fiber, spirit, bone.
We retreat, chased by encroaching shadow.

As if to mock us, the trees strip naked,
shedding the last of their dead weight,
exposing warts and knobby knees,
wrinkled bark, bald as acorn, sharp edges

from trunk to tips of twigs, face the biting
frost with bare arms, palms open in offering,
roots clasped in prayer, devotion
to what’s hidden beneath

frozen ground, daring the restless
winds to uproot them, the ever forging
fall of snow to bury them right
where they stand.

Artist’s statement

This poem was prompted by my fascination with the contrast between our human impulse to shield ourselves and the trees’ quiet surrender to the season. Their bare branches began to feel less like vulnerability and more like an inspiring act of resilience in the hands of faith.

About the author

Sarah Cohen was born and raised in Springs, New York, and now resides in the hills of Argyle, where she finds inspiration in the quiet spaces that have always felt like home. She has been enchanted by the art of writing since before she knew how to call herself a writer. From an early age, she found herself drawn to the page as a place for observation.
Her work explores memory, nature, grief, resilience, and the ways a person is shaped by what they survive.
She is currently working on her first collection of poetry.