Y
o
u
and
I have
traveled well
together for many
years. Orange, blue,
blue, yellow, white, silver
blue, I have trusted you in all
your incarnations. We have seen
seedlings become trees, and we have
seen trees bursting with buds turn green
then red then winter bare. We have seen trees
ravaged by insects and latticed by woodpeckers.
We have seen scores of trees bend and break in the
path of tornadic storms. We have seen trees cut, quartered,
dismembered, mulched, and then hauled away by earsplitting
trucks. We have seen trees in splendor and in despair. It is now
October of our accumulated years together. Trumpeter swans have
returned to winter in the nearby lake; the hummingbirds have all flown
to sunnier climes. The nights are getting longer and soon you and I will part
company for six full moons. While I retreat to my chair to read beside the fireplace,
you will stand in wait behind locked doors.
As the ground thaws and the trees grow pregnant with buds, I shall leave the warmth of the house to cross the dormant lawn. Ever so carefully, with failing sight, I will turn the dial clockwise, counterclockwise, then clockwise again. Reluctant, the battered lock will release and the doors to the shed will fold outward like pale yellow rose petals to the sun.
There I will find you with dust clinging to your lean frame and flat tires looking forlorn from the long winter. No matter. I will wash you off and air you up and we will ride through the
forest in
reverence,
breathing
in pine,
daz zled
by the
l i g h t .
No comments:
Post a Comment