Friday, March 24, 2006

From A Druid

Don't presume you know a tree. What you think may just be limbs might really be an eye - or a finger. That's okay; We all look the same to them, too.

This is what I shared with my trees today:
It is very early spring - late March.
The air is chill, and it's been raining.
Just before three in the afternoon, the sun breaks through
and shines dimly down from behind a layer of thin clouds.
The trees, in their early-budding angst,
reach out and tangle their hands and fingers,
as if rifling through imaginary pick-up-stix,
for no reason, except to express their excitement.
As I glance at their waists, where the earth is,
I see the sun's light on the ground.
Yet, just past their trunks, is the gray horizon.
The sky is thick all the way around,
but the tip of the sky glows yellow,
So the trees can play.


Blogger jobwich said...

I once tried to carve what I thought to be my true love's initials in the maple in my yard. The blade slipped and cut me to the bone. The love's only trace is a scar. The respect for trees endures.

8:27 AM  
Blogger Bitter Bi+ch said...

Love's trace is a scar, indeed. Like an old tattoo. I like my trees.

1:43 AM  

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