Trees Trees Trees
Trees Trees Trees Trees Trees Trees Trees
I often ponder on what it would be like to exist as another living thing.
I must admit to being fascinated in and in awe of trees. They are
magnificent and diverse in their architectural splendour. Skeletal and
naked - except for evergreens of course - in winter and lush and green
in summer. In summer I can lie beneath their lush green canopy and
observe their ever changing form as they rustle and chatter when
caressed by a breeze.
If this life of ours is just a temporary experience of an eternity of
experiences and we are indeed reincarnated - I would like to come back
as a tree. I do wonder if they are sentient and that we are just too damned
arrogant to accept this as there is not an observable brain. If I return as
a tree I will endeavour to make contact with humans if I should discover
that I am sentient. If not, I will have made a big mistake - but of course I
will be totally unaware of it!
Ode to a tree.
as I lie warm in my bed,
you stand outside my window.
A stark silhouette,
naked and cold,
and as the north winds
make you shiver,
you tap, tap on my window
as if in entreaty,
but I won't let you in!
When I wake in the morning
you are iced in a half blanket of snow
and look magnificent.
In spring you stand in the dirty world
in which new life begins.
Your many arms are outstretched
as you emerge from your winter torment,
and you breathe in the richness
and begin to bud.
Two wood pigeons
that utilise you as a home
and remembering their favourite branch -
roost there, preening and cooing.
Come summer your lush
green canopy shades the world beneath you.
You are a welcome shelter for a myriad
of insects and birds claim you as territory.
I lie under your protection for hours on end,
in awe of your greenery
and watch your ever changing shape
as a breeze says "Hello!"
Nature is wonderful although I
accept cruelty is part of it.
But you are not cruel.
A carbon sequester and oxygen giver.
Come autumn you are seasonally affected
and in your sadness
you begin to fade and shed your now
brown and gold coat.
If the wind is quiet your leaves
drift aimlessly to the good earth below.
If angry, your leaves fly in the wind before
landing and scurry along the ground
as if in some frantic race.
Soon you will be tap, tapping on my window,
but I won't let you in!
Thadeus the thoughtful.