The sliver of moon shines bright In the crisp dark morning. I see its light through The bare tree branches. It greets me as I awaken From that warm, cozy slumber. We are the only ones awake.
Do the leaves hold on to the tree’s branches or is it the tree’s own doing when it comes to ultimately letting go? The leaves have completed their cycle. They were the first buds and sign of spring Opening into colorful blossoms. The blossoms became the green or dark hues Expressing the type of deciduous tree. All shapes and shades of green expanding toward the sky. Next there were the seeds. The future generation of trees were expelled down. Pinwheels of seeds helicoptered below The descent to bring forth descendants. Now that the seeds had done their work, The tree could finally show its true colors. The green transformed to bright oranges, reds and yellows. My oldest calls them the color of the setting sun. The strong autumn breezes help the trees Shed their leaves. And then they are bare, Ready to brace the cold of winter. No fragile blossoms to accidentally freeze. Just the tree and its roots Starkly standing in the white of snow. Forever patient. The cycle can’t be rushed or passed through Because it is nature’s own timing And the tree plays its part. The deciduous tree reminds me That all stages are important. One is not more special than the other. It is a seasonal reminder That life’s moments are brief. And there is beauty and a lesson to behold If I just take nature’s cue.
All the blooms have paid their visit. They fulfilled their roles to completion. Now green leaves of every hue remain on the branches. All the trees marinate and meld into just a tree Where the blooms easily identified the species. Now they are a forest of trees Indistinguishable to the undiscerning eye. One lone red maple stands out from the rest. Does the species of tree matter to the nesting bird Tending to their fragile, precious young? Maybe. Sturdy, tall, with camouflaged branches They call home. I call it nature’s greenery.
The deciduous tree does not appear as it once stood just one month ago. Its outstretched arms are glowing against the backdrop of the deep blue sky. Splotchy green with yellow or browned edges. Yet the mighty maple is just the sum of its many tiny parts. The branch reaches toward the sky on its solid trunk. A resting place for tiny buds that blossomed and burst into a big bold green. Seeds descended and dispersed. And now we get to see the leaves’ true colors. The deciduous tree does not get to choose when it’s time to blossom or seed. It is synched to the rhythm of nature beyond our concept of time. The seasons connect me and ground me in a world that always seems to be spinning faster and faster, Almost off-kilter Off balance. As the cycle of the season begins I’m suddenly reminded of the color, the beauty, the cycles of nature that surround me. Always there. A constant reminder that I, too, am a child of nature and connected to the timeless rhythms that surround me.
The wild plum tree grew from the earth’s roots stretching its branches towards the sky towards the sun. To taste the fresh ripe flesh was a treasure to behold. The branches swayed to and fro like a rocking pirate ship. It does not nor can it evade the storms. Its very foundation depends on it being rooted. So the tree does what the tree does and the plum is the perfect expression of the tree. Fruit, a gift for you and me. I will taste the ripe fruit with unabashed pleasure and joy. Revel in its juice and as it drips in my hand and through my fingers. A pure delight. I thank the tree, the sun, the rain as I digest and swallow the whole earth in this little plum.