Something About Trees

There’s something reassuring about trees.
Look up at the branches—
Always eloquent,
Always inching forward,
Reaching for the light.
Think of the innumerable lives that trees harbor
And nourish;
The winters they pass through,
Naked.
Trees endure
More successfully than ourselves,
Though they eat only air
And drink only water.

They were home to our earliest ancestors.
Later, villagers constructed huts from them,
Traders hammered out boats,
Pioneers built cabins,
Furniture, fences—
Trees still smell of home.

There’s something reassuring about trees.
They call children to play,
As children must;
They call old folks to reflect,
As old folks should.
They encourage everything
To find its proper place
And breathe.
They leave room for others.
They even purify our air.
Like the sun and the rain,
Trees refrain from judgment.
You can trust a tree.

There’s something reassuring about trees:
Deep in the infested city,
Humanizing the concrete,
Calming the populace;
Their movements too slow to perceive.
A tree will never sneak up on you,
And you can never sneak up on a tree—
Nothing surprises them!
Yet they catch us off-guard,
Releasing bold new colors every fashion season.

There’s something reassuring about trees.
They are never agitated.
Angels might go to war, but not trees.
No matter how often we strike them,
They never hold grudges—
As far as we know.

What kind of tree would you be?
Any kind.