"Speak it to the Trees"

Finished Oct. 11, 2013. This began as a short story that stayed in verse as I continued writing it. It ended as more of a poem.

"Speak it to the Trees"

I’m glad. I’m glad. The Fall breeze rolls softly through my hair.

Gently, lofting, like grass tossing, pushing me into existence.

The soul wandering amongst the leafs.

Leaving, breathing, a newborn pond.

This pond so young, yet aged so long.

It has been a blanket for that Old Woman;

A willow, a widow since her roots had gone;

The man she once loved, now hidden in earth.

That old-young pond is a mirror, silvered in truth.

That widowed willow bends into its gaze.

In early morn’ a pure white shroud;

A curtain to hide in the solemn haze.

When the sun greets it, at the hight of the days,

The Old Woman is there; speaking, crying, sleeping away.

And when the moon comes to court it, the woman is there.

She slips out in darkness, concealing her ways.

The singers, they chirp. The music echoes far and wide.

I’d like to stay a bit longer to hear the climaxing song.

They flutter around me, bright brown and blue.

I love to watch them, and they know I do.

The branches dance above me;

The arms stretching, worshipping their Creator.

To experience this joy, ‘tis never a bore.

The quick, brisk smell of the forest so bright.

The breeze lapping and licking, I couldn’t care if it be day or night.

The solemn of the forest, never not; such a beautiful sight.

A squirrel runs before me;

His gaze so headstrong and true.

I knew he was there, and he knew I was too.

He scurried a bit, calmly searching the floor.

Then held up a stick and looked my way.

My heart fluttered at first, then calmed.

The squirrel didn’t mind me and continued his day.

As he hopped -- one, two, three -- up and onto a tree.

A rain drop come to lay on my head.

To look up, it was not; but a simple white dove.

That dove looked down at me, wanted my attention.

He turned ever so forward, redirecting my gaze.

Now a doe, across the way I see.

It was a lady; its step kept ever so daintily.

She did not shake, skimmer or scare.

That lady walked, as peaceful as pretty.

I hear a thrashing behind her;

A crackle, a break, a ruffle, a tussle, a moving, a quake!

Out to before, the commotion it jumps!

There it was, the small speckled fawn.

That lady smiled, laughing a grin.

Her baby, a child, began running again.

Happy, laughing, and tossing, whirling and twirling.

The child began.

His mama still walking, talking; her joy flashing from within.

Now I see, followed up from behind,

A tall crown; stood kingly and proud.

Walking but never; the strut flowed perfect and true.

Here came the buck; of the likeness no one ever knew.

He walked as if nothing else existed;

The air itself perfect in presence.

His gaze landed, only where he saw it fit.

So calm. So perfect. He was the king.

Always it was; no fear clouded his sight.

He came to the doe; king to his lady.

They rubbed heads together; proving a bond.

He walked there beside her; loving hand in hand.

The baby jumped before them; always playing again.

The buck jumped to, with the fawn.

They began playing; running and jumping to and fro.

The lady she smiled; shook her head in content.

So loving a family; and joyous they went.

The choir followed close behind; above and below.

The birds, the chirping, and squirrels are jumping.

This was peaceful; I wonder, the coming event.

All they head to that old-young pond.

They gather, surround; this family, not crowd.

Up to the Old Woman; the king, his lady and baby went.

They sat beside that widow as she withered away.

That Old Woman; the poor weeping, widowed willow, rotting and frayed.

She wasn’t alone; her family was there.

Gazing into the pond; they all would stare.

Solemn and silent; they knew why she was there.

Her late husband protected them so.

In return, they share the sorrow she sowed.

The breeze picked up; she brushed those so near.

Her stillness stirred, to know she was never alone.

Joyous in sorrow: her loving still loved.

Some turn to see me, and accept that I’m there.

I know they don’t mind it. I shall join them to be.

This forest, it is, such a beautiful sight.

Resting now, I think I’ll sleep here tonight.

- Antonio G.