Poetry · Writing

The tree spoke to me

A Tree's Face
A Tree’s Face

The other day I sat beneath a tree
Leaning back against the trunk
And looking up through his branches
Watching the branches move in the wind
And listening to the leaves rustle

As I watched and listened, the tree spoke to me
It was so quiet…I almost missed it at first
He was telling me, if I listened closely
The things he liked

It was things like the weight of a child
Hanging from the branches while scrambling
To climb up higher
Looking for a better view

Or the way it tickles him
When squirrels and nuthatches
Scramble up his trunk
Their tiny claw gripping at the texture

He loves the sound of the birds in his branches
The raucus call of the crow or
The melody or a song bird, but especially
The hungry calling of newly hatched chicks in their nests

But most of all
He likes the simple, quiet apprciation
Which we show when we stop under his branches
Waiting and listening, for him to tell his story

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