Oaks of change

Things have changed again
I suddenly realize it
starting with the oaks
who shared my days of splendid youth.
I remember
being able to wrap my hands right around them.
When they were much smaller than street lights.
They're all grown up now.
I need both arms to reach around.
They've grown tall and proud
watching over the street.
Their tops touch each others
shading the street from the summer sun.
Winds do not shake them as they once did
They are solid now, not easily persuaded to move.
While everyone else is marching onward
and moving away from the street
one by one by one
They remain its guardians.
Oaks do not change in the same way we do.
They grow taller and stronger and broader.
You will not find them
changing their address,
traveling the world,
getting married,
heading off to school.
They stay where they were planted,
anchored to the earth.
One day perhaps my own children will know them
as the massive guardians of the street
forever the oak walkway.

Nights of Yore

I remember nights like this one.
In the middle of July,
the buzz of a thunderstorm
hanging in the distance
the warm humid air filling your lungs
as if you were somewhere tropical.
The impending darkness of dusk
bringing with it an endless night
full of possibilities.
The way laughter echoes
down empty streets.
The way cigarettes waft on the breeze
and glow orange through the dark.
The way the it feels
to lie on burnt grass
and watch the stars.
To feel so invincible.
To be so sure these days would last.