...A poem as lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
by Joyce Kilmer
When I get old, I'm going to be a tree hugger. I can already feel the draw. One morning while I was walking down the street in our neighborhood, I happened upon an elderly woman who had her arms wrapped around the trunk of a huge heritage oak on the roadside. I snickered to myself at the time, thinking the poor soul had lost her marbles. As I approached her, she caught a glance of me, and quickly released the tree and walked off, not saying a word. A week later, the giant oak was brutally dismembered and chopped to the ground to make way for a power line. I had to admit, it was tragic.
The hacienda is surrounded by giant redwoods. Though most of them are in my neighbors' adjoining yards, I nevertheless get to enjoy their great beauty. They make me smile and I am humbly reminded of their noble purpose here on our tiny piece of the universe. The air on this crisp November morning is magnificent, and I am thankful.
Good morning, sunshine...
Laurel. Feeling the quiet.
