If trees had feet–being older on Earth than we; having been hewn for bows and arrows, ships and oars, kindling and matches, pulp and fiction, funeral pyres (the irony of which escapes everyone but them); having been whittled to axe handles to chop more trees; having been guarded by wooden fences and watched from wooden window sills; having thus far demonstrated more tolerance than any mammal yet designed and loosed upon the planet (explaining why old tortoises are never killed by falling branches)–if trees had feet–with rooty, knuckley toes and dirty nails (not like the nails that hold up wooden bird houses and Do Not Trespass signs)–if trees had feet, would they leave?
Dec 22, 2013
Tag Archives: trees
Peace
I knew a moment of peace,
but it did not know me.
Spread-eagling in the meadows,
and chuckling the birchs’ toes,
its scent and sense bejeweled
the breeze, but left me be.
Aug 2012