Sunday, June 15, 2008

A Tree is a Tree


I have seen trees before
Many trees
Many times

Marching down highways, plumping up hills,
Straggling behind fence-posts,
Colouring-in far horizons.

I have relaxed in their shade,
Scuffled in their leaves,
Enjoyed their fruit.

I have looked up to them in awe in Canada,
Noted their military precision in Finland,
I have depleted my store of numbers
Counting the shades of green they offer.

I have swooned at the sight of an English chestnut,
Marvelled to see an African baobab,
Delighted in the silver-birch subtlety of the Australian gum.

Millions upon millions of trees.

But a tree was a tree was a tree.
Until yesterday.......
When I walked through the bush, with two little boys,.
And we gazed, and we chattered,
And we looked way, way up to the sky,
And then round and round at the rope-like vines,
And then squinted into the deeper bush
Where, surely, 'something' was moving!

We touched new green shoots with our tippy-fingers
And slashed away at the grass with our dry old sticks.
And, all the time, the water in the creek gurgled a tipsy song,
The ferns rode riotously up hill.
And bell-birds tinkled like an orchestra of timpani.
Memories-to-be indeed.

But for me, the fondest memory of the day will be the little hands.
Hands dragging, slashing, stroking, fondling, exploring;

But, most of all, holding mine.


The Friday Forgotten said...

Thank you for visiting The Friday Forgotten and linking your post. Your imagination and creativity should never lie dusty in a dark corner of your blog. We are happy to help clear away the cobwebs.

This poem was excellent and I am happy to be the first to comment. I love the flow of it and the memories you rehashed. I think the end was fitting and nearly perfect. I hope more people stop by and read your well placed and thoughtful words.

Maxwell Mead Williams Robinson Barry said...

smart write on trees and tree experiences,

Glad to have you share, see you next time.