Trees I Have Known

 Trees I Have Known

There was the large willow tree

at the corner of our yard when I was small,

my special hideout beyond the house,

a tall attic-like space where I could see the world,

and yet be all but invisible.

My young body would jump to the first branch

and then climb up to near the top,

hidden away unless I spoke.

I felt cradled in the woody arms

of my first tree-friend and devastated

when it had to be cut down,

its roots interfering with the septic system.

Still I carry the memory of this

beautiful welcoming tree in my heart.

Next came the large hardwood tree

on the banks of Wapsinonoc Creek,

which ran just down the hill from our farmhouse.

If I had been on my own,

I probably would never have discovered

this tree full of promise, but my adventurous

boy cousin and best buddy

had the idea of building a tree house

high in its branches, from where

we could attach a bag swing,

jump off the wooden platform

and soar over the water below.

And we did it! I’m sure it was mostly John

who did the building. Though I might

have handed him boards, hammer and nails.

In later years, through high school, college,

raising family, teaching, running a business,

trees became a lesser focus for me.

I sometimes planted them and tended them.

And I loved the huge cottonwood tree

that grew south of the farmhouse, loved the birds

that roosted in its arms, especially the eagles.

But now in my older years, trees have taken

on a new meaning. They are a symbol of

rooted strength, calm, unwavering acceptance,

a peaceful harbor in the storm of life.

I sometimes sit at their feet and drink in their rootedness.

And when I need to settle my mind with no tree in sight,

I imagine a wise, steady tree standing straight and firm,

showing me how to root myself in good healthy soil,

to stand tall, knowing that I am surrounded by a web of life

also standing firm and strong. Trees are my beloved teachers.