The Story of Trees

As I approach a milestone date, with several good friends who go back a long way, I wrote a poem about trees.


The Story of Trees


Born of different seeds

Spliced grafted
Planted by chance, by the swirl of the wind
Or the planter's design, growing in proximity
Under the same sun, fed through the same water, filtered up through different roots
Scorched and sodden by season
Pollinated and fruitful in maturity,
Now gnarled and scarred in places
Still growing in the pattern of each species
Each with a reach and a depth
Rooted and anchored for shelter and strength,
For shade, wider than their silhouette
The north wind bends one and the east wind shakes another
pushes us together and pulls us apart
underground talons grip
and ropes and cords and threads criss-cross tightly, holding firm
under shadows overlapping in ever-changing patterns as the sun arcs
and still our stories grow - the axe still seems a long way off.

Reflections

The whole room reflected in the outside, with me looking in

surroundings superimposed and overlaid, in and out

I saw a version of me, just shadows and highlights

Looking back asking the same question

The glass a double painting, two silent songs sung over each other,

one of the trees and the passing day,

the other of me inside this box, broken by the reflection of the open sky

Another looked from outside, seeing himself in my room, unseen by me

And a bird swooped overhead, over his head, and to him over mine, and his as well

Then a bus, heedlessly, drove straight through me,

but which was the ghost, the man in the world of reflections, or the bus reflected there

Houselights in the trees, a ceiling of sky, and me looking for answers

How did I get there, what happened on the way ?