Selection 14 of
 |
The Oakby Nancy ClarkThis oak, just one of hundreds else Deep rooted in the forest soil Once grew from new, its first full leaf Unseen, its foliaging alone. In time came claimers of the land With plans and markers, shovels, saws. The forest yielded, till the tree Shared space with houses, roads with curbs And lawns and poles with wires and lights. A grace of nature in our yard, This oak held place as centerpiece. Our lives were always full of leaves And limbs in seasons' dances rocked With raindrops, winds, and blowing snow. Its trunk of ample girth set stage For us to see the scamperings Of fat brown squirrels, watch creepers climb, Woodpeckers work, and flickers dart, Performers on the crusty bark. A feeder from its lowest limb We filled with bread and nuts and seeds That drew the fussing gangs of sparrows, Pompous crows, bright cardinals, And wary squirrels with bushy tails. The pulse of spring would once more bring The "leafing out," protruding buds Unfolding into wide clean green, All perfect leaves, and acorn seeds Would drop like marbles on the lawn. Each year the white spring beauties made A ruffled skirt around its trunk. Above, the summer's wealth of leaves Shed sunshine for our welcome shade And turned to brittle in the fall. The winds that sifted through our window Blew as well about our tree. We shared the place, the air, the breath. A common thread of spirit circled Through us and our sturdy oak. As we looked out to share its life, It also gazed inside at us. It watched the child grow up, the dog Grow old, the table set for every meal, Watched lights go off at time to sleep. Beneath its gaze we mowed the grass, We shoveled snow and raked its leaves. It watched the people come and go. The children dressed for trick-or-treat, Saw Santa Claus come up the walk. One April as the forest woke, A creeping sense of absence made Me stop to study, touch its branches. Barren limbs! The "leafing-out" Had failed to come on time with spring. Gone dead. Gone numb to flowing, stroking Spring. Denied its drink, as if A thief beneath the earth had drained Its water trough and then to bear Indignity of nakedness. No slow and gradual demise, Just gone, a standing skeleton Like ruin of a cathedral spire In silence offering wordlessly A prayer to finish vanishing. Then came the men who felled the oak Who cut and hauled it all away While we were gone, and smoothed the lawn. The wind blew in, no bond to share, And we were left confronting air. |
|
Selection 14 of
|
|
Heartplace Home Page |