I smelled money suddenly as I walked,

And looked down about a block and saw a bank.

It made me wonder what kind of trees they’re making money from these days.

Now I know they say money doesn’t grow on trees,

But I’m not sure.

This fresh aroma that I smelled

Was deep verdure

Of aspen tree or cottonwood,

Mossy oak or the spoken word of a willow.

But as I grew closer I could see

A maintenance man was just ahead of me

Trimming a holly hedge,

And what I’d detected was the bittersweet 

Life force of the fruit and stems

From being trimmed,

And the sweat of the working man’s brow,

His duties pruning him, as well.

There is a peace that passes understanding.

There is a knowing seated deep

Within our DNA.

Nothing is ever destroyed or created.

Nothing is ever lost or gained.

It’s only light and sound and smell and feelings

Bouncing off a mystic screen.

Nothing is ever saved or spent,

Except our sacred energy,

And we would do well to know when to say when,

And store our treasure by some other means,

If we can only find out how.

-jenn