The Gift of Trees

 Of all the poems I learned in high school,

I think I shall never see one lovely as a tree. 

A mother tree lifting her arms to pray. 

It is in these liminal spaces of my mind that poems slip through, like Joyce Kilmer's poem on "Trees" 

 "A tree that looks at God all day, and lifts her leafy arms to pray." I find these trees reaching out to me on country roads, in parks and walks along cement sidewalks. I talk to them when the moment arises, especially while on the golf courses that I have traversed. 

Rest in Peace dear tree
(d. 2021) 

More than any one piece of literature, Kilmer's poem left an imprint on my soul. Though Kilmer doesn't speak of laughter and grace, I find that the trees have their way of dancing with their arms, bringing smiles to our faces. (This pine tree must have had seeds that saw the Native American dancers weaving gracefully.)

With the New Year beginning and worn out worries of 2024 fading into the twilight I wanted to close the year with the beauty I sense daily from the trees. 

"A tree that in summer wears a nest of robins in her hair;"

We are fortunate that our robins never leave us in Oklahoma. We are no longer the treeless prairie as once described by the pioneers. Our trees are filled with blue jays, finches, doves, hawks, cardinals, crows, grackles and so much more. 

"Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain." 

Trees see, feel, and communicate in ways we cannot imagine. Do they weep when their arms drop in storms or a low blow from mankind? I believe they must, but it is their resiliency that I respect. 

Before we left Kansas I stopped to take a picture of this tree. A tree that withstood God knows what. For the eighteen years I traveled north and south on Monroe street through storms, ice, spring rains and dusty winds that tree stood proudly. I named her Liberty.  

I miss our black rich soil of Kansas and the blooming trees of spring, yet,  I relish the Sugar Maples and Bradford Pears in the fall when they turn from greens to yellows, oranges and reds. We watch as our Bradford Pears hold on to half-dried leaves hanging limply in the autumn winds until at last the grasses are hidden by  soft shades of red under the trees.

"A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed against the earth's sweet flowing breast:"

How is it that one line can mean so much when we see it actually happening right before our eyes. Life is so full of delight and surprise. 

Her home is hidden in Governor Dodge State Park,
Dodgeville,  Wisconsin

Once a year a tree in our neighborhood brings awe and joy to those who find him. He dresses in glowing white lights and casts his eyes upon us with a guiding light to all.  May you all enjoy the gift of our trees in the days and years to come. 

"Poems are made by fools like me,

but only God can make a tree."