Tag Archives: trees

Sparkle trees

 

When the trees are glossed in ice
and the sun glances through them with rising fire
They bat the light back and forth, a plaything
And I think
AAAAAAAAAAA THE TREES ARE SPARKLY!!!
*eyes bulge*

 

Sorry. Poetry is just too grandiose, my brain can’t go there when all that’s running through my tiny mind are oh my fucking god the trees are sparkly, sparkles sparkles sparkles. I’ve regressed. Just in typing this, I’ve keyboard smashed so much that I accidentally opened up a bunch of weird windows for which I didn’t know there were keyboard hotkeys, like an HTML debugger. If it’s not what the sparkles have done to my brain, it’s what the cold has done to my fingers.

 

Here’s something random. My boyfriend writes songs for fun. Every once in a while I’ll sing one of his songs for him. Hopefully these blues will gently bring us all back down from the sparkle high.

 

 

Haibun – Winter Maneuver

 

Winter  attempts an advance against fall. To one side of the road, a cold snowscape of white-laced grass, two-tone evergreens, ancient gnarled branches softly pillowed with marshmallow, a study in black and white. To the other, fresh grass scattered with the discards of the glowy orange maple, the radiant yellow fingers of the gumball tree, the startling neon red of the burning bushes. Winter is gaining ground against the bounteous color, blotting out the many-hued lawns with pure white primer, heaping icing on the trees’ heads. The trees, still warm and flexible, shake the wet snow from their glorious manes, spattering sidewalk and pedestrian alike with gobs of slush. Dripping sounds off from all sides, in full stereo. Splat. Splat-splat. It was not the sky, but the trees which rained.

 

Ever she dances

Nature’s unconscious graces

Embrace all conflict

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

The Fall

 

When Fall passes by

It brushes some trees on top

Some the bottom

Some the side.

Wherever a leaf has been touched

It quickly spreads.

The torch of Fall

Kindles all.

They go graceful, as nature wills

They go with fire, one last glory

Immolating the world.

There is beauty in destruction

And the trees glow with it.

Filtering sunfire

Into their own shade

Coloring the sidewalks

Rose

Lemon

Baby green

Port.

With a farewell kiss

So light

Too soft for all senses

But sight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Bur Oak

 

Sorry I haven’t been too responsive lately. Things have gotten busy!

 


 

Today two friends and I cycled out to the Bur Oak

Locally celebrated as the oldest tree around.

We rested in its shade

Picnicked

Painted.

A frail old man with a cane arrived

Guided by a woman and a little boy.

It was evident his family adored him.

They spoke eagerly about what to show him next.

The old man saw my friend painting and was pleased.

He had gone to art school.

He was very honorable, soft spoken, knowledgeable and kind.

After they left,

Three carfuls of Chinese students showed up.

Amidst the clamor one of them said, without irony,

“It’s so peaceful!”

We got to talking.

Before we knew it

A beautiful slight thirty something woman

Was leading us all in a Tai Chi exercise.

She taught us Chinese words as we followed her movements.

Four motorcyclists arrived

In matching Harley Davidson jackets.

They found a spot amongst the roots

And made brash, cheerful gossip.

 

Of these very different people

Every one was here to see the tree.

Some casually leaned against it.

Some circled it.

Some squealed for a picture with it.

Some hugged it.

Some climbed among its roots.

Some solemnly sat and revered it.

 

How many people

Has this tree seen come and go?

What does time even mean

To something so ancient?

For most of its life

It had little significance

Growing up among peers.

Time passed

And all the trees around it fell.

Why did it remain standing?

A farmer’s passing fancy?

A fluke?

Or did it have value even then to someone

Beyond all other trees?

 

Now it takes our human adoration

Our traffic

Our abuse

All our attentions, for better or worse

And still it stands

Breathes

Drinks

Takes sun

Makes acorns

Towers.

 

Trees know something we don’t know.

We play at their ankles like children

Drawn to what they have

But never understanding why.

 

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