White Light Black Light

I wonder about the trees.

Why do we wish to bear

Forever the noise of these

More than another noise

So close to our dwelling place?

We suffer them by the day

Till we lose all measure of pace,

And fixity in our joys,

And acquire a listening air.

They are that that talks of going

But never gets away;

And that talks no less for knowing,

As it grows wiser and older,

That now it means to stay.

My feet tug at the floor

And my head sways to my shoulder

Sometimes when I watch trees sway,

From the window or the door.

I shall set forth for somewhere,

I shall make the reckless choice

Some day when they are in voice

And tossing so as to scare

The white clouds over them on.

I shall have less to say,

But I shall be gone.

*

This is a photo of my tree in Pacific Grove, CA. His name is High Heart.

I do have a fondness for the tree that was in the front yard of my house while I grew up in Redwood Shores, but all the pics are on paper for now...Even though all the homes in the area of my house had the same tree, they all grew differently. Maybe reflecting the home occupants? A lot of families took the tree out in favor os some sort of alternative landscape. Our tree stayed in almost the entire time we lived there. At some point my brother took it down and made a mound of planted flowers with small logs around it...he must have done that just before he died and my parents moved North.