spindly branches
remniscent of spider legs, or
gangly teenage limbs
stretch out above
leaving gaps for sky

daylight is normally the sign to get up
yet the alaskan sky is the sneaky type,
attempts wake you at 4:30 a.m.
instead of 7.

evergreen smells crawl into my hammock
tempting the one sense exposed
with the rest of me burying self in a mummy bag
wool socks holding in heat down by my toes
eyes closed, hoping for a couple more hours
of sleep

while those trees stand tall:
reaching to touch heaven
to point to their Maker
whether or not you are looking…

but how can you not look?