My People

My people soak up sadness like pines stealing moisture. Ah moisture, a dangerous element that gives birth to deserts. It does so in absence, and in presence. Have you ever seen a green desert?
My people stand guard before the clouds who sweep through.
My people where old, now they are young. Forever Young said the logger. But you will see them here and there. The full blown ecology of old has characters that started growing before Jesus.
My people are here.