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Tree Talks 46 - 50

46.
Beauty?
They each come
ten thousand times
a year,
dropping their seed
willy-nilly.
Rocky ground
or rich,
it doesn’t matter.
Some few grow,
bent, straight,
large, small,
rigid, supple,
it doesn’t matter.
They do this
without dispute,
without rancor,
though not, I think,
without infinite joy.
This is called "stealing the light."


47.
Tree therapy.
Free for the walking,
sitting, running.
Driving, even, gives
the opening heart
food, as your speeding
riff of supra-silver tendrils
gives them a new
frisson for their
patient being.


48.
What language do they speak?
I do not know.
Record it, transcribe it?
Already you ask
irrelevant questions.
For the trees,
all questions are irrelevant.
What language do they speak?
Tree talk, of course.
How do I know?
By this.
The feathery touch of pine,
the heft of oak,
the silken sigh of palm,
the manic whirlpool of birch,
the bo-tree’s massive
concentricity.
It is, finally,
enough.
Satiation and surcease,
if you can believe it.


49.
Wisdom beyond wisdom.
Knowledge beyond knowledge.
How can the tree
not love its roots?
How can I
not love the world?


50.
What do you think
they pay attention to?
The falling rocks, rain,
the folding clouds, canyons,
our screeches and scratches?
Or the lap, lap, lap
of vast, heaving waves
of time, the caress
of suns, moons, stars?

Tree Talks Chapters 51-55 > >
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