Reddened legs dangle over the edge of summer Feet kick in time with passing rail cars The heat of the day soaks through your clothes Yet you shiver a little at the touch Of a cold steel tendril from a bunch of yesterdays The daylight passes in big meaty chunks now Leaving wide charcoal grill marks And there's a damned spilled-syrup stickiness That persists on a spot on your forearm Late afternoon means a silica-sand grit When you run your fingers through your hair And still that heavy waterlogged boot That you can't get a hand around Sits in the hollow of your stomach Along the sidewalk ahead now The trees callously toss their shadows Uselessly across weedy lawns Rather than provide an ounce of shade for your path Oh you'll see the end of all this alright You'll come out the other side of it all Feeling for the source of the draft Under the door To your one room apartment And smother it there Where it lies With the same old tattered blanket That you used Last year.
Another winter's come, the trees lay bare, Mere skeletons, stiff standing, 'pon the ground, Like you, protruding from the mind, no sound, A quiet remnant, gone, but always there,
The trees wait patiently for that one day, When life returns to every waiting thing, I, too, await the Day of mankind's Spring, When you'll return from where you've gone away.
The Twin Oak Trees, The tallest there was, Thousands of squirrels work in it, One day Two mighty dragons came a crashed into them, One for each, The Trees caught fire, Most of the squirrels perished, But every squirrel that day, Mourned for the squirrels that were lost.
Some may call it cliche, but I think I found myself today Standing there under the small waterfall and gazing up to watch the individual drops spiraling down towards my face in slow motion, almost as if each one, slowly yet rushed, leaned into kiss My eyelid, my open mouthed smile, my collar bone, Without hesitation. They knew exactly where they wanted to fall and land, But they wanted to get the timing right; They wanted the moment to be perfect. And good God, was it. When I reached my hands out, rainbow tinted droplets puddled in my palms, The sun glistened against my pale skin and the water gave me satisfying chills like no other. Vividly colored wings fluttered by my feet and the emerald leafed trees Shadowed and protected me and rocks of burgundy and taupe clay cradled me. It wasn't the giggles escaping his mouth each time she slipped in the mud, or the way she danced careless and free beside me That reminded me how great a treasure this life is; pleasantries weren't what I needed. It was the intricate patterns of the silk and spider skeletons. It was the uphill climbing adrenaline. The masterpieces not created by men. It was the sound of the water trickling between nooks and crannies. The elflike mushroom homes, the winding creek paths and bees. The warmth on my shoulders and glare through the trees. It was the symbiosis of all of the living things around me That most don't think to actually consider alive... But how could I not, When they're the only ones making me feel the same way?
The Leaves Of The Trees And The Grass Of The Plains
And again I found myself laying underneath the sun and above the shattered oak leaves. Dressing the ground on a cold Autumn day, these tiny vessels carpet the woodland floor. I find that we can learn much from the leaves of the trees and the grass of the plain, I find that if one looks close enough, we really are no different than even these leaves. Daily we're swept off of our branches and blown into countless differing directions, parting Parting from one another when our time is decided, knowing not to where we fly. And just like these leaves, we are truly simple beings, varying in color and size, But all coming from the same root. You see I've found, by only watching the leaves of the trees and the grass of the plains, That once we come to know our roots, the directions we take are no more valuable than the petty pride we often carry. So here's the deal you see, I really don't have much to say, so listen close. No one person is better than another, no one person is more important than some other And this is so, because our roots are the same. As the leaves of the trees and the grass of the plains of this earth in which we inhabit, We must come to realize that our leaves are not what matters, but the fruit we produce. We must come to realize yes, that without healthy fruits of love and peace and kindness Our tree is but merely a sore sight to those looking upon our arboretum from outside
"We will be replacing the curb and parts of the sidewalk. The trees will need to be cut down along with the one in the middle, We have marked them with pink ties. "
Wha???
Two Towering Old Maple Trees Our trees. Each bordering the sidewalk But also near the curb In front of our house Each holding memories Which go back beyond my ability to remember, And yet each a solid part of my growing up in this house... When I first met my husband and he would park his 68 Camaro under one of them. I was still climbing trees at 16. My sister carved her name and her bf name in the same tree. They were always there. ALWAYS. Like something you just KNOW is going to be there. Strong. Withstanding any weather for 52 years. Like our dad. Steadfast present trees. Part of our existence. Planted by the township when my parents moved here in '61 just before my birth. Part of me. Us. Our family. Our lives.
Shock. Utter disbelief. Anger. Bargaining. Acceptance? Not yet.
Our beloved Maple trees. Our beloved littler tree, now growing strong. Shade and privacy. Beauty. Sweetness. Life. Seasons. Cycles. Strength. Presence. Our beloved trees. Two are steady and strong at 52 years are now towering over our house, Beautifying our street along with many others. A younger tree, a sycamore? ( has those little helicopter seedlings that spin when they come down), is center stage, next to our mailbox, but towers just the same Next to our mailbox. Leaves are still green.
" Will you also need to remove that one? "
"Yes.: They all have to come down. "
" But... but... "
"Has to be done. The roots ruin the sidewalk. We will be replacing the sidewalk as well. "
"And will you be replacing the trees? "
"No but you can plant new ones on your property. "
"Okay... thanks. "
Shock. Tears.
I vow to the smaller one that I will find a way to pull it up... transplant it just a few safe feet away. "
I am broken. I just lost my father who LOVED our property. Loved this street with it's trees.
I am in tears as I type this. I can never tell my mother, who moved away a month ago. She is equally in love with our trees and was always frustrated when the township would come along and cut the branches so they could not touch each other across the road. WE LOVE our canopy of maples and now the ORIGINAL development with the OLD trees, the apple of my father's eye... my mother's eyes will become like a desert. It was one of the only things Mom and Dad had in common, a love of our trees. The shade trees. What else is there?
Oh... I will take photos. I will take movies. I will save branches. I will fall apart. I will go out tomorrow and buy two Bradford Pears and place them in exactly the same spot except on our side... to distract me from the carnage. I don't know HOW I am going to deal with the trees coming down. It's like taking part of my house down. The sadness comes in waves. It brings back the loss of my dad. It is dad's birthday today. Would have been 85.
I am so glad my father and my mother did not have to see this. THANK YOU GOD for that much. And for the Pear Trees which will flower in the spring and grow tall. Thank you. I am not okay but I will be. We will be. We will plant again. "Restore the Shore Club".
My mom always called our neighborhood 'Shore Club' as that was it's proper name when it was established, but it came to be known by it's current name, Hamtown, later.
