Communing With Trees – an original poem by Doris

Communing with Trees

Four towering green spruce trees convene at the street corner.
They are the stolid, well-turned-out sentinels —
like the reliable regulars who hold their posts at the local coffee shop.
Observers think they’re not communicating. But, like elder statespeople, they
whisper among each other all the time, especially when the wind rises.
It is then that they huddle with intent. They are the village protectors and
actually pray together, sending healing through needles that form in spirals.
When resting, the trees’ branches lilt upward like the graceful arms of a ballet dancer.

The sycamores stand quietly showy with mottled and beautiful bark.
They prefer to grow near water. When the sun shines on their layered bark,
the white parts glow like porcelain in a museum. It is meant to be admired.
These trees keep fairly quiet; their gorgeous appearance is contribution enough.
Placidly, their roots take in water near the creek that gurgles like a baby.
Elegantly attired like art museum docents, they help people to pause at nature’s splendor.

Pine trees emit a scent that surpasses any perfume.
People get near pine trees to shake off mourning and depression.
When you enter a pine grove, the carpet of dried needles underfoot
creates a hushed atmosphere. This is like padding into a cathedral.
When you look up and view graceful branches swaying above,
you do feel closer to a higher source. It is certain you tread on hallowed ground.

The old oak tree has branches that creak as if it’s arthritic and moaning.
A shaman once said that great oak trees beg to be appreciated, so
these lamentations may be their way of getting attention.
This tree is perfect for leaning against. Better yet, sit at the oak’s broad base and
sense the gentle pulse of this mighty behemoth.
Even heavy ravens rest easily in its strong branches.

The trees in my neighborhood are like friends, and people watch them grow.
Like grandparents, aunts, and uncles, they are guardians who are
aware of the presence of individuals. These tall guards provide shady respite from
Summer’s heat and a buffer from Winter’s howling winds.
They give silent lessons about bending with the breeze, planting deep roots,
and giving as much as you can. All this they do with unselfconscious grace.

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