Two Meditations on Trees

Published in Friends Bulletin, 1995.

Under Five Dead Trees

At our spring retreat we sit[break]indoors on metal folding chairs[break]and look through glass at green[break]alder and pine along the creek,[break]not overhead at five dead trees,[break]angled to hold up roof and sky,[break]fifty-foot cathedral beams,[break]once upright, rooted, straight.

Once breathing out, breathing in,[break]now shaved, slabbed, bolted in place[break]atop a ridgepole; crucified elders,[break]old as Methuselah, cut in their prime.

Under Five Live Trees

At a fall retreat we sit[break]outdoors in a grove of oak[break]and reach with open arms[break]to catch the floating yellow[break]hands drifting down from[break]a canopy enshrouding all,[break]summer roof held aloft[break]by dark winter branches.

Caught in a golden parachute,[break]we try skydiving worship,[break]throw back our heads, breathe in,[break]leap up and out again.

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