Poetry

A Tree Planted By The Stream

It’s raining today, and every
day, even if the sky is clear.
I step outside to feel the city
of roots under my feet,
unseen but working, holding,
supplying that tree (and me)
with the things it needs.

“Who will speak for the trees?”
is good, but “Who will let
the trees speak?” is better,
if we are asking questions.

See that bird sleeping there
under the wings of the oak?
Perched on its bark, safe?
It’s resting on a thousand
borrowed anchors busy
in the dirt, grabbing water,
to keep itself grounded;
to keep itself flying
wide as a tent in the sky.

Why am I sad that I need more water?
Look what can be done.
Look what has been done –
birds can sleep to that kind
of strength. Remember my
roots were made to drink?

If we are asking questions
maybe let us stop and let
the trees speak. I think they’d
make us wait and watch.
Much like me, still here in the rain,
waiting, watching, just now
remembering we are never
without the stream.

So, while we wait
for what it is we wait,
I think the trees would say
(if we let them speak),
“Lean in and enjoy
this bountiful drink.”

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