Roots

How is it that we, 

in some manner peculiar to us,

identify with trees that are 

the lone sentries of fields

or keepers of forests,

yards, and neighborhoods?

We love fluttering leaves and shade,

the crackle of autumn’s footsteps,

the chirp of spring’s new foliage,

the sounds of breezes through their limbs,

and how we grieve when one is lost.

And how strangely beautiful it is to walk

over the rise and fall and breakage

of old sidewalks stamped,

USA

WPA

1939

heaved by the persistent roots,

the undoing of things made by man.

It’s the nature of things that impresses.

Look again and imagine what beauty 

exists underground, bearing such lofty 

and enormous burdens.

Then sit and sip some wine,

basking in the tranquility of its shade.

From: Memories Of Things Left Behind:

A Non-linear Recollection

Unpub. MS p. 35