Laden with chattering squirrels and crows by day, the forest now stands quiet and unseen, mysteriously uncovered only where the lamplight touches its edges. Thanks to nightfall and street lamps for unmasking the eerie and lovely things that catch my eye and inspire me at night. Tonight their golden branches, so loose and bold, reminded me of Asian brush strokes. 
I suspect this lamp post never asked to be involved in the drama between those trees. Or some nights I imagine him a humble thing, unaware of his own influence and who never expected to be so wrapped in love and beauty. Whether he is content, miserable, or oblivious, I am glad he lives by my house entangled in those particularly graceful and lively branches.
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From ashes the fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken;
The crownless again shall be king."
-- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
Not all who wander are found, either.
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